The Girl You Are
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Sequel to "Look to the Sky." When it's Mary's turn to experience the loss of a father that she never got to know, will the new mom and wife revert into her former self? Rated T for language but it isn't excessive.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So after I finished publishing, "Look to the Sky" I had several reviewers respond saying they would like to see another story with those same characters. I've actually tried writing a few fics lately on stand-alone and it was really hard after that last one to pretend Marshall didn't have the family I created for him. So, here's your sequel folks, "The Girl You Are Today."**

**This takes place roughly sixteen months after the epilogue of "Look to the Sky" which makes Sam a year and a half. Honestly, I don't find the plot overly stimulating. It's just a story; no twists and turns. It's basically Mary's turn to experience what Marshall did in an entirely different way.**

**So, I hope even in married life our inspectors are not too far off from their original characters – and as parents as well! Carolyn and the gang will be back for more and I hope you enjoy seeing them too.**

XXX

As Mary glanced up, out the window behind her desk, she reflected on the fact that people forever believed Albuquerque radiated heat twenty-four-seven. Even with the panes closed, she could see branches in the distance, bobbing lazily in a gentle breeze beyond the rooftop. The buds sprouting the ends were shades of palest pink and rich green, just inching into flowers ready to burst into bloom at any given moment. Thin wisps of cloud stretched the faded blue sky as the sun dipped beneath those branches in the empty expanse. Spring was definitely coming, Mary thought as she turned around.

Instead of allowing her eyes to stray back to the papers strewn on her desk, they found the photo of the little boy in a sterling silver frame. His hair waved on top in tufts, the color of maple syrup and molasses. His orbs sparkled their telltale forget-me-not blue; when she was so sure they'd be green. But best of all, the most mischievous of smiles played behind his pacifier.

Sam.

"You're looking pensive," said a familiar voice to her left.

Mary shook her head and averted her eyes back to the papers in front of her. She hated when he caught her like that. It pleased him way too much.

"What are you thinking about?" he pressed, just as he always did.

"Whether or not I packed Sam's pajamas," she replied stupidly, head still bent away from Marshall's.

"Uh-huh," he grunted disbelievingly, but he let it go at that. "Speaking of which, you'd better get a move on. Peter's dropping him off at 5:30."

"What? No Brandi the Blimp?" she chuckled sardonically as she wrapped up her document signature with a flourish.

"Now, is that any way to talk?" Marshall asked as she got up and reached for her jacket, folded on top of her tote beside her desk. "What would you have done if I'd have said that to _you_ when _you_ were pregnant?"

"Huh," Mary scoffed and shouldered her bag; she saw Marshall watching her with his eyebrows raised from his own desk. "Jammed my boot in your ribs? Slipped poison in your nightly glass of warm milk?"

"Now you're just being mean," he pouted as Mary clip-clopped over to him and stopped with her hands splayed on the right side of his table.

"I know," she shrugged, fighting not to let the grin escape. "I'm a cruel old broad. Never should've gotten mixed up with the likes of me. Better watch your tail, partner."

Marshall stood as though this had been an invitation, arms extended out in front of him as he swiveled slowly on the spot. When he stopped, his rear end was visible as though on display.

"Sure you don't want to watch it for me?" he prodded and Mary couldn't stop the laughing from forcing its way out this time.

"Doofus," she smacked his ass instead and he turned around with a smile on his face, kissing her quickly on the lips.

Mary never let him get away with just a goodbye smooch. She leaned in for a second one, wrapping her free arm around his neck and raking her fingers across his neck, into his hair. Not for the first time, she was glad they were alone; Stan out at a meeting in Santa Fe. Although he'd done a top-notch job of conceding that his inspectors were married, sometimes he still got, as Marshall said, 'scquiggy' when the pair of them brought their theatrics to the office.

When they parted, Mary still had one hand half on his shoulder, half around his neck.

"Don't be _too_ hard on Brandi," he said more seriously.

"What are sisters for?" she cocked her head and flashed him a smirk reminiscent of the one on the face of the little man on her desk. "Blimp was putting it kindly."

She wouldn't let Brandi herself hear that and just the same, her size was nothing compared to what Mary's had been at thirty-six weeks pregnant. Other than her bloated face, it looked like her little sister was carrying a half-size basketball under her shirt to attribute to her gestational 'symptoms.' Mary found the whole thing disgusting and _that_ was what she made sure Brandi knew on a daily basis.

"I'll see you in a little while," Marshall said, ignoring her comment. "Pick up some dinner?"

"Yeah," Mary agreed. "You didn't expect me to morph into June Cleaver did you?"

Marshall just chuckled and Mary unwound her arms, still gazing into his face, trying not to look like too much of a lovesick puppy. The eyes, the smile, even the stubble on his chin and his stupid, flat-top haircut – all of it did things to her she couldn't rein in. How she would've managed Sam without him, she didn't have a clue and mere gratitude fueled her adoration every single day.

"Gotta go grab Smush," she reminded him when she saw the longing in his own gaze.

Their precious moments alone any more were usually invaded by the eighteen-month-old or witnesses run-amok. Although both had begrudgingly agreed to more desk-time and spent fewer minutes _together_ in the field to reduce their risk of getting blasted simultaneously, they still ventured the occasional throw-down as one.

Still, Mary wouldn't change it and she knew Marshall wouldn't either. She still firmly believed his way with their son outfoxed her own by a wide margin, but they seemed to function just the same.

"Give him a kiss for me," Marshall requested as Mary pranced to the door.

"More like a punch on the arm and noogie," she told him, and Marshall knew she'd do it too.

She could still hear him laughing even after the elevator doors closed. It sang in her ears, rung like a bell against her ribcage, reverberated as though a steady drum in her heart.

Love.

Marshall's glance wandered to his own image of his boy perched atop the desk, displayed proudly framed in gold. Unlike Mary's, however, Sam didn't stand alone in Marshall's preferred shot. His mother sat with him, sprawled on her belly across the rug in the living room, trucks and horses scattered everywhere. She was wearing drawstring pants and a thermal button-up and had chided Marshall severely for broadcasting such a look for others to see. But he hadn't budged on removing it. She was holding Sam's hand as he sat cross-legged in front of her, as though examining all five fingers. The moments she let herself go with him as others watched were few and far between, and Marshall didn't intend to let such a thing go by unnoticed.

Even as Marshall finished his forms and double-checked an MOU, his mind remained full to the brim with his bride and his little boy, unable to push them to the back as the sun dipped beneath the just-blossoming trees against the clouds.

It was this, perhaps, that had him neglecting to notice that his phone was ringing. Snapping out of it, he picked up the receiver and answered.

"Inspector Mann," he said, businesslike as he continued to write.

"Oh…" said an uncertain and flustered voice belonging to a young man, maybe mid-to-late-thirties. "I must have the wrong number. I was looking for Mary Shannon."

"Yeah, this is her office," Marshall assured him. "But she's left for the day."

"Oh…" the man said once more, still sounding agitated.

"I can get a message to her," Marshall offered. "If you're able to share."

It was a standard stipulation to place on those who phoned the WITSEC office. If he was speaking with one of Mary's charges, it was likely he wouldn't feel like revealing who he was or what he was doing. He had the trademark voice of a worrisome witness.

"This is her husband," Marshall tacked on for good measure.

He could've just said partner. But he liked this so much better.

"Oh," he sighed in relief as he repeated the word for a third time. "Well um…Inspector…?" he tried to pick up his thread once more. "What did you say your name was?"

"Mann. Marshall Mann," he clarified, guessing this person was slightly confused since he and Mary did not have the same last name.

For anonymity purposes on the job, she'd kept Shannon as a precaution. He also thought it had something to do with Sam and wanting to tie herself to him since his surname was also Shannon. She'd yet to admit to such a thing, however.

"Well, Mr. Mann," he began again. "This is Jeremy Sullivan on behalf of Cornerstone Funeral Services and Cremation of Boring, Oregon…"

_Boring_ Oregon? Marshall would have to remember to run _that_ one by Mary.

"Three months ago, we buried a John Doe that passed away from severe injuries sustained in a car crash and after it was ascertained foul play was not a cause of death; the man's identity was uncovered…"

Marshall really did see what any of this had to do with him or Mary and continued writing rather absentmindedly, until he heard a name that made his heart stop dead against his ribs.

"…So sorry; we weren't aware James had any family…"

Marshall started and quit scrawling at once.

"What?" he said sharply. "James who?"

No. Oh, God.

There was a shuffling of papers on the other end while Marshall waited with bated breath, the bile from his stomach creeping into his throat. Somehow, his eyes found that precious photo once more but his vision blurred against the shapes now, unable to discern Mary's or Sam's figures.

He shut his eyes. He prayed…

"James Wiley Shannon," the man reported and Marshall immediately felt faint. "Mr. Mann, we do apologize profusely. When he was brought to us we were told – as I say – that he was a John Doe. Even after they uncovered his identity it was believed he didn't have any family. There were no records to indicate as such…"

"Wait-wait," Marshall interrupted, trying to get his head wrapped around this. "What happened, exactly? You said this occurred three months ago?"

"Yes, sir," Jeremy swallowed as he prepared for the rest of the story.

Meanwhile, Marshall's head was spinning. Five minutes before he'd been engaging in stupid, flirtatious games with his wife. And now…?

"Mr. Shannon was in a fatal automobile accident near the Oregon border. His body was found in a riverbed; the car had overturned. He had no identification on him and, seemingly, no contact information."

Marshall was hoping with every fiber of his being this wasn't right, that it was some mistake but for everything he'd heard about Mary's father, this sounded _exactly_ like him.

"He was brought to us and arrangements were made for him to be buried," Jeremy went on. "It was only recently that we found he was a…" an awkward pause followed and Marshall suddenly knew what was coming next. "…An FBI fugitive," he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

"As I understand it, Mary is his eldest daughter?" he prompted to cover up his blunder.

Marshall nodded even though this person couldn't see him, his throat dry and scratchy. He was trying to figure out what to say and get the words out his mouth. The office was almost dark now. He'd forgotten to turn on the light in the kitchenette earlier.

"Um…to my knowledge, she is," Marshall said. "Mary hasn't been in contact with him for some time. As far as we know, James has five children."

His heart sank just thinking about Mary's face if she knew he'd said that. She'd never wanted to extend an olive branch, as it were, to Lauren or Scott and had never even met her other supposed half-sister floating around out there in the ionosphere.

"Mary's only full sibling is Brandi Shannon," Marshall found himself revealing. "Formerly Brandi Shannon," he corrected himself. "Brandi Alpert."

"Yes," Jeremy said, and Marshall pictured him nodding just as he himself had done. The inspector wondered if he had the information in front of him. "Are you aware of the whereabouts of his other children?"

"No," Marshall said at once. "That would be Lauren and Scott. I don't have a last name."

He could find out, but he didn't want to. Mary had never wanted to.

"Well…Mr. Mann," Jeremy seemed to want to wrap this up now. "I really just wanted to call to apologize. We never would've buried the body if we'd known he had a family. Please send my condolences to your wife."

Somehow, Marshall didn't think condolences were what he'd be sending but he agreed to do it just the same.

"I will," he said. "Thank-you for calling."

"Inspector, I'm in touch with the police department and if you or Mrs. Shannon have any questions or want to make arrangements to visit the cemetery…"

Marshall imagined him shrugging his shoulders on the other end of the phone.

"Please let us know," he finished lamely.

"I'll do that," Marshall said. "Thanks again."

Before Jeremy could say anything, Marshall hung up.

It wasn't two seconds before he buried his face in his hands, the darkness cloaking him now like a thick and very heavy blanket. His mind was working furiously trying to figure out what to do. Of course he'd have to tell Mary. But how to go about it?

She would die.

Not in so many words, no. But whatever she told Marshall about putting her father in the past, about not giving a damn about what he'd done to her anymore; Marshall had always known this wasn't true. He lingered in the deepest recesses of her mind, her husband caught the gaze as she snuggled Sam close in the shadows, he even plagued her nightmares when she thought Marshall didn't know she lay awake.

Other thoughts swirled endlessly on the edges of all this – he and Mary were supposed to go to Kansas the next afternoon to visit his mother. They hadn't been since Sam's first Christmas and things had been slow at the office; Stan had given their little getaway the thumbs-up. And then there was Jinx, and poor hormonal pregnant Brandi…

He still had his eyes pressed into his palms when he heard the badge swipe and the shoes shuffle across the floor.

"Marshall?" came Stan's voice from his left. "What are you doing? Why is it so dark in here?"

He let Stan walk over and snap on the light before he emerged, the glow strangely bright around his lids now.

"What's up?" Stan pressed, briefcase in hand. "Something wrong?"

Marshall sighed, but knew he would be able to tell Stan. He would understand. He loved Mary too.

"I just got a call…" the inspector revealed. "Apparently…about three months ago…they found…"

Could he say it? Was it fair to spill to Stan before Mary?

"…They found…Mary's dad…dead in a ditch at the Oregon border."

"Oh, Jesus," Stan said immediately with a low sigh of his own. "Wait a minute, three months ago? What the hell happened?"

"They thought he was John Doe," Marshall explained as he stood up and grabbed his own briefcase, instantly ready to go home and be with his wife.

And at the same time, he knew what awaited him beyond was nothing good. The thought of devastating the person he loved most in the world, in this entire vast universe, didn't endear him to the idea.

"Jesus," Stan repeated. "Mary's gonna be pretty upset. It's a good thing you guys are getting away for a few days."

"If she still wants to go," Marshall shrugged. "I imagine Jinx and Brandi will try to strap her down to stay while they wail out their woes."

Marshall knew he shouldn't have said it, knew that Jinx and Brandi deserved more consideration these days but he couldn't help wanting Mary taken care of at a time like this and anticipated the role-reversal as soon as word spread.

"You make her go, Marshall," Stan said firmly. "If you whisk her outta here, it might actually take the sting away."

Marshall nodded, understanding the truth of Stan's words, knowing it was time for him to bid his boss farewell.

"I'll let you know," he said, and headed for the door.

Just as he was about to reach for the handle, he heard Stan's voice again.

"You're a good man, inspector."

Well, it was only fair for Mary to have at least _one_ good man in her life.

**A/N: A dramatic start, but I wanted to get rocking and rolling! Review and I will love you forever LOL!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you to my lone reviewer thus far! I hope the story captures your attention as it progresses!**

XXX

The minute Marshall stepped through the front door of Mary's house – he and Mary's house – he wanted to back right out again. But he forced himself to stay rooted to the threshold once he shut the door, simply watching Mary and Sam. He knew _she_ knew he was there, but apparently she was feeling tolerant.

Sam sat on the counter in a pair of orange knit pants and one of Mary's usual simple T-shirts – yellow with green stripes. He loved that his boy didn't match. He had a low mien noodle between his fingers, undoubtedly stolen from one of the open cartons on the counter. He mashed it a few times before shoving it into his mouth where it hung, half-in, half-out. He turned to Mary who was slurping her own noodles in her usual, unladylike way but Marshall knew it was for Sam's benefit.

When she sucked in two in one sitting, he giggled delightedly and Mary reached over to help him chew up his own dinner.

"Evening," Marshall finally strode in, knowing he couldn't stand on the doormat forever. He deposited his briefcase on the couch and ventured into the kitchen.

"Da-da, da-da," Sam babbled around his noodles. Marshall grinned, rumpled his hair, and kissed him.

"How's my boy?" he crooned, and the little one grinned with pleasure.

Mary ignored the salutation – their child rarely uttered a 'mama.' She claimed it didn't bother her, even though Marshall continually assured her Sam was merely a quiet kid and rarely said much at all and that all babies developed their language skills at different rates anyway.

"Where you been?" Mary asked, tossing him a package of egg rolls. "You didn't have much left to do, did you?"

He'd been driving around aimlessly, wondering how on earth he was going to drop this bomb. As it was, he didn't answer Mary's question and put the egg rolls back on the counter beside Sam. Seeing the little boy reach out his grubby hands for a taste, Mary hoisted him up and anchored him on her hip.

"Nuh-uh," she said when he whined pitifully. "You had your dinner," she jerked her head at the stove, scattered with pieces of Lucky Charms.

"Ah, from all the food groups," Marshall mused, attempting a joke. "Grain and sugar."

"Humph," Mary scoffed, bouncing Sam to keep him from progressing into a full-blown tantrum.

Evidently, she wasn't going to be baited into distraction because she clearly noticed Marshall's haunted eyes, the absence of his usual smile when he came home for supper, the way he seemed to want to run to her even though she was perfectly safe and standing upright in the kitchen. It reminded Mary of when Seth had died and that scared her.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Did you get some bad news?"

That was one way of putting it. But Marshall was starting to kick himself for getting so worked up about this situation. Mary would need him and it was imperative he be stable and calm, not some over-emotional sap so concerned with her well-being he couldn't get a handle on his own feelings.

"Marshall," she stepped forward and quit jostling Sam, for their son had gone silent in investigating the crumbs on his shirt.

He looked into those big green eyes of hers, probing his own – back and forth, back and forth. He was going to break her heart – crush the only wish she'd ever had.

"Mare, why don't you come sit down?" he offered, waving his hand behind him, indicating the living room. "I've got something to tell you."

"I don't want to sit down," she said immediately, and Marshall should've sensed that coming. "If you've got something to tell me, tell me now."

Sam stirred as her voice rose; Mary realized and shifted him higher onto her hip, brushing his flyaway waves across his forehead and out of his eyes.

"Please," Marshall said as he watched this. "Just come sit."

Mary caught the urgency and the agitation wrung tight inside his tone and was hard-pressed not to agree this time. He was already on his way to the couch before she followed, bewildered, behind him. He settled himself on the coffee table and she sat nervously across from him, wondering what on earth this could be about. Sam wiggled to get off her lap and she lifted him down where he immediately tore off for one of his stuffed horses, its mane chewed and damp.

"So, what?" Mary said harshly to try and save face and not show how skittish Marshall was making her. "What's with the hangdog?"

Marshall sighed and looked at the ground before meeting her eyes again. Gently, he placed his hand on her knee. She wanted to shake it away, but found that she couldn't.

"Mary…this is not easy…for me to tell you…" he began.

"Something tells me it's not gonna be a picnic for me to listen to either, Marshall, but get on with it," she interrupted, sounding appropriately agitated.

Knowing this was true, Marshall went on, "Someone called the office a little while ago…"

He couldn't say it yet. Not yet.

"About your father."

Man alive, why had he thought _that_ would be better? Mary's eyes widened and she shook her head, looking totally thrown-for-a-loop. Why was Marshall being such a fool? He gave people horrible news all the time; he should really be doing a more decent job at it.

"My father?" she repeated, voice hushed and low, lost somewhere in her throat. "What about him?"

Marshall knew he couldn't leave it here. He had to go on.

Sam was chattering sweetly to himself behind him, the sound music to his ears.

He squeezed Mary's knee

"Babe…he died," Marshall blurted out. "In a car accident."

Even as the words slammed into Mary – bricks in her stomach, a train in her chest, the hand over her mouth so she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move, only one thought made it into her head and she despised herself for thinking it.

Her father was gone. Dead. It was official. He was never coming back for her.

It was the most asinine thing in the world. She'd known, for decades now that she was likely never going to see her father again. He'd abandoned her, he'd had a second family, he was a crook and a fugitive and a liar and she couldn't count on him for anything.

But this was different. Something inside her ached, but she couldn't discern where it was or why it was making her feel like she couldn't draw breath. She swallowed as she tried to speak and it was like her airway was coated with cotton. Tears unshed.

"When did this happen?" she whispered. "Today?"

"A couple months back," Marshall reported softly. And then the final blow, "It was…believed he had no living relatives."

Mary's chest hurt and her eyes stung. He'd forgotten her. There had been nothing to indicate she had ever been a presence in his life.

Marshall was unable to restrain himself from comforting her. She was just sitting there, staring at him and also past him – at something he couldn't see.

"I'm so sorry, Mare," he murmured quietly. "I really wish…things had turned out differently."

Well, so had she. She always had.

When she didn't respond to what he'd said, Marshall got off the coffee table and took a seat beside her. She allowed him to put his arm around her back, but she didn't look at him; she didn't move. Her eyes were still locked on the spot he'd vacated, as though she hadn't even noticed him leave.

After a moment, Marshall decided he needed to speak again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, dipping his head low to try and catch her eye.

She finally stirred at this, but just barely, shaking her head at the ground. Marshall didn't know what to think. It was most unusual for her to be so quiet about something of this magnitude.

"Mary, I know you must be upset," her husband continued evenly, still with his arm around her. "And I know you probably don't want to be," he guessed. "But it's fine if you are…"

She didn't react to any of this – to anything at all – until Marshall's words were torn in two by a loud thud and a thump. Sam, for what seemed the zillionth time, had bumped his head on the lip of the coffee table and fallen to the floor. He let out an ear-splitting wail, sitting in a heap on the ground.

It was this that seemed to recall Mary to consciousness.

"Oh, damn it…" she cursed and flew to her feet, motoring around to pick Sam up. "How many times is this gonna happen?" she voiced loudly to no one in particular. "Come here…come here…"

She bent and lifted Sam up with ease where she tried to calm his cries, but he squirmed and wiggled against her chest, clearly uncomfortable.

"Hush…hush…" Mary murmured sweetly, rubbing his hair but evidently he wanted something else – someone else.

With an anguished sob that only increased his volume, he whined clear as day, "Da-da-da-da…!"

Mary couldn't stop the sigh from escaping and Marshall did the same as he stood up, neither one hearing the other over Sam's fussing.

"For Christ's sake…take him…" Mary said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice or hold off on the wetness threatening to spill over onto her own cheeks.

Transferring him into Marshall's arms, she felt certain she was going to burst watching her son descend into gentle hiccups and quivers against Marshall's chest. Marshall had the grace to look ashamed, but this did not help Mary.

"I can't give him what he wants!" she shouted in what was fast-becoming a silent room.

"Mare, don't…" Marshall started to say, but she couldn't help it.

"Why can't I ever give him what he wants?" she exploded as Marshall stooped awkwardly to retrieve Sam's pacifier from the coffee table, which he promptly stuffed into his mouth.

Marshall knew she was referring to more than Sam at this point and he stepped forward to put his free hand on her shoulder. She had none of it.

"He wants you!" she shook her head disbelievingly, gesturing in the vicinity. "He _always_ wants you!"

"Not always…" Marshall tried to say.

But both of them knew this wasn't true. Sam loved Mary, and Mary loved him, there was no denying it. But like any eighteen-month-old, he had a preference and never hesitated to share it. More often than not, he whined for Marshall, for Brandi, for Jinx before Mary. She was more his entertainment than his mother. It killed her even though she usually didn't let on, and she never knew what she was doing wrong. It was a mystery that had plagued her-her entire life, stemming from two days before she turned seven.

"Why the hell would he want me anyway?" she found herself saying, cheeks red and flushed now and she raged. "Nobody ever has!"

"Mary, stop this," Marshall said sternly. "He loves you. I love you; don't you ever think otherwise…"

The room was heavy with the absence of Sam's sobs as he snuggled into Marshall.

"Come on…sit back down and talk to me…" he invited softly, but Mary wouldn't bite.

"For what?" she wanted to know. "What are you gonna tell me that's gonna take this away; that's gonna change what you just said? It's over, it's done…!"

But even as she said it, she felt the tears on her face, couldn't stop her lip from quivering as they rolled and she let out her own anguished sob that matched her son's. She folded into her hands, not wanting Marshall to see her like this, but he saw everything.

"Come here…" he whispered, offering her his free arm, the other still supporting Sam.

He had to guide her in on his own, but to her credit, she didn't pull away. It wasn't the most comfortable of hugs; she mostly just stood cheek-to-cheek with him, making his face damp as well. He rubbed her neck serenely, the sound of her cries far worse than Sam's. Marshall turned to the side and kissed her temple, lips pressed firmly on her flushed skin.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this when it was over," Mary murmured thickly, sniffling in an attempt not to drip snot all over Marshall's jacket. "I wasn't supposed to care anymore."

The man really didn't know what to say to that, so he kept quiet and wished he could release Sam to engulf her in a proper embrace.

"You want to postpone the trip?" Marshall asked as she nudged herself away to look into his face and wipe her eyes. "Stay here and have some sort of…I don't know…" he shifted Sam up to keep him from slipping. "Service or something?"

"For a criminal?" Mary whispered, even in her ethereal voice unable to keep the contempt out.

Marshall thought about saying he wasn't _just_ a criminal but had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well, so he landed on a different tack instead.

"I just thought…Jinx and Brandi…"

Oh God, Jinx and Brandi. Mary hadn't even thought about them. Truthfully, she wondered how she'd managed to forget even in the short space of time since she'd gotten the news. Brandi would bawl even though she hadn't even known the man; being nearly nine months pregnant was only going to make the tears come faster. And Jinx would flip out – never mind the fact that James, legally, had been declared dead about five years ago. Something told Mary this wouldn't stop her mother's dramatics.

It was with this realization that caused Mary to make a fast decision.

"No," she shook her head and Marshall, thoughtfully, reached over and brushed the stray tears away from her eyelids. "The plan is to go; we're not going to change it. There's no reason to stay."

Marshall wasn't sure this was true and knew it was all part of Mary's obsessive need to honor her commitments, but he couldn't argue with her.

"If that's what you want," he said. "Then we'll go."

"Marshall…" she whispered, and he saw her welling up again, hearing the tightness against her vocal chords. "I don't know what I want. Obviously," she added as an afterthought with a bitter laugh.

"I know," Marshall whispered.

When Sam let out a contended sigh against Marshall's shoulder, he had a sudden revelation in knowing what _he_ would want after news like this. When Seth had died, he'd been fortunate enough to have been given the one person he desired most on the planet earth. Although this wasn't that simple, he had to try.

"Hey Sam…" he murmured softly, nudging the boy's head lightly with his own to sit him up. He stirred and tossed the tufts from his red-rimmed eyes.

"Can you give mama a hug?" he prompted. "A hug and a kiss?"

Mary rolled her eyes even through the gloom at Marshall's request. He had been attempting rather steadfastly as of late to school their kid on how to 'hug and kiss' but he was finicky about when and where. Mary didn't expect him to agree and wasn't sure her heart could take another beating. To her surprise, when Marshall passed him lightly into her arms, he accepted the touch and palmed his pacifier. The kiss he delivered was flat-lipped and slobbery but Mary didn't mind at all.

"Mmm…" she unarticulated as she began to cry all over again, silently this time. "Thanks sheriff…"

She sheltered him close against her, fingering the soft, baby-fine strands of his rich, reddish-brown waves. He didn't look like her. Sometimes, she saw Mark but other days he resembled no one at all. Like he really had been dropped by the stork.

Seeing her lost in her grief and her confusion, Marshall guided her to put Sam back to the floor and, blissfully, he toddled off – onto another adventure, completely unaware of what circled around him. In his absence, he hugged his wife; resting her cheek on his shirt, cotton on her skin. He kissed her honey-golden locks when he felt her tremble with another shudder.

"I love you," he said again, wanting her to hear it as many times as she needed. "And Sam loves you too."

For the first time, Mary had to accept that this was going to have to be enough.

**A/N: Like I said, dramatic start but hopefully that's not bad.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Those of you who have reviewed already are so-so-so sweet! Nothing general about your comments; made me feel like a real writer! Thank-you so much!**

XXX

"I cannot believe you're still going to go," Brandi pouted from her spot on Mary's bed, perched on her elbow and twirling a strand of hair idly around her index finger.

Mary bustled around, determined to keep busy, throwing clothes and other necessities into suitcases open in front of her sister.

"Make your peace with it, Squish," Mary advised, not meeting her gaze.

"Leaving me here with mom when she practically had a stroke after you told her – seriously, you think I need that kind of stress?" Brandi went on childishly. "Peter keeps telling me to relax and mom isn't going to let that happen."

"Please," Mary scoffed, tossing a pair of jeans into her suitcase and marching out and into Sam's room to grab a few more of his things. "You really think she'd do anything to endanger her _precious, darling_ grandchild?" she called out like the very idea was making her sick.

Grabbing a few sleepers and socks from the top of Sam's dresser, she slammed the drawer and headed back to her bedroom.

"The dad card trumps everything," Brandi said seriously. "You know that as well as I do."

It had been a restless night for the Mann's and the morning wasn't going much better. After Mary and Marshall had delivered the news to Jinx and Brandi – over the phone, no less – Mary hadn't gotten much sleep. Marshall, worrying himself to death over her hadn't succumbed either, determined not to have what she couldn't. In any case, Peter had refused to let Brandi leave the house after she'd suffered some sort of dizzy spell earlier in the day, so Jinx had gone to be with her. The result was a lot of phone calls in the wee hours of dawn and Brandi had only managed to wiggle her way out of Peter's clutches by nine A.M. Marshall had taken Sam to the office until noon so Mary could get the rest of the packing done.

"Squish, it's just for a couple days," Mary reminded her, taking a seat on the bed as she noticed Brandi still had her lip stuck way out. "You've got mom and Peter and…we'll do something when Marshall and I get back. Okay?"

What that was going to be, Mary didn't have a clue. She also had no idea why she was suddenly able to put up the good impression, pretend like the current state of affairs weren't bothering her.

"Like what?" Brandi wanted to know.

"I don't know…some whiskey in his honor or something equally unobtrusive," Mary suggested.

"Mom and Peter can't drink," Brandi reminded her. "And neither can I," she frowned at the fact that Mary obviously hadn't put any thought into her idea.

"Then we'll get you some sparkling cider or wine coolers," Mary rolled her eyes and got off the bed, not in the mood for her sister's drama.

"You don't fool me, you know," Brandi decided while Mary zipped up the first of the suitcases and put it on the floor.

"Sure I don't," Mary muttered.

"I know what this is doing to you. You think you're so great at hiding your feelings, but…"

Mary didn't get to hear what Brandi was going to say next because both of them heard the key in the door and the telltale pitter-patter of little feet running across the hardwood. Sam tottered in, dressed in a pair of denim overalls and a yellow T-shirt. Even though he was sucking on his pacifier, a grin was visible behind his lips as he spotted who was on the bed.

"Wandi!" he squealed delightedly.

Brandi gasped dramatically and hoisted herself into a sitting position.

"Sammy boy!" she greeted him as he threw his hands in the air, lifting on the heels of his feet, indicating that he wanted to be picked up.

"How's my favorite cattle-herder?" she asked as she abided his request and lifted him onto the bed beside her with a groan.

"You shouldn't be picking him up," Mary chided before she could stop herself. "Nothing too heavy."

"Yeah," it was Brandi's turn to scoff. "Like you ever would've listened to that nonsense while he was in the oven," she said as Sam practically crawled onto her chest, for her lap was otherwise occupied at the moment.

"Sammy boy, guess what?" Brandi teased enthusiastically without waiting for Mary to respond to her declaration. "You're going on an airplane! You're gonna fly like the birdies!"

Brandi extended her arms to either side and tilted back and forth so Sam would get the idea. He just stared, amusement in his eyes as his aunt made motor noises.

"Can you say, 'zoom-zoom?'" she prompted. "Zoom-zoom?"

"Zoo!" Sam gurgled behind his pacifier. Brandi just giggled and tickled his ribs, planting kisses on his rosy cheeks.

Mary paused to watch, a pair of Marshall's pajamas in hand. How was Brandi such a natural? She was going to become a mother herself in just four short weeks and wasn't the least bit concerned. Mary, who practically lived her life without fear had been terrified she would have no maternal instincts. She did her best with Sam and always hoped it was proficient.

As though sensing his mother was pondering his existence, Sam wiggled out of Brandi's fingers and crawled to the end of the bed. He stood awkwardly against the cushion, weaving on the uneven surface. Once there, he pulled a handful of colorful jelly beans from the front pocket of his overalls, presenting them to Mary.

"Where'd you get those, sneaky?" she asked with a grin. She pretended to snatch them, but Sam was too quick for her and yanked them back. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold on and they scattered all over the bed like fancy stones and pebbles.

"Uh-oh!" Brandi sang from her spot.

"Here bud…" Mary bent to help her son gather his candy, scooping them as one. She placed them back into his waiting chubby hand, but Sam examined them and held out a red for Mary to see.

"What pal?" she asked.

Sam just whined agitatedly and thrust it further into her face. Suddenly, Mary understood.

"For me?" she inquired, taking the single, solitary bean from his fingertips.

Removing his pacifier he said, "Yeah" with a resolute nod.

Sam didn't spend a lot of time on his vocabulary. He could repeat just about anything but his standard repertoire consisted of 'da-da,' 'Wandi' 'Jing-Jing' 'ba-ba' and 'yeah.' 'Jing-Jing' was his word for Jinx, which Mary thought was silly. It made her think of bells. 'Ba-ba' of course, was bottle, but 'yeah' was pretty clear.

"Thank-you sheriff," she said, very businesslike, and popped the bean into her mouth.

"Um, hello!" Brandi said loudly, pretending to be offended. "Don't be stringy, Sammy boy!"

As though he understood, Sam flopped onto the opposite end of the bed and crawled to Brandi, shoving an orange bean into her palm. Brandi ate it at once, but shook her head as she chewed.

"I think you're forgetting," she poked a finger at her stomach. "There are two of us now. Don't leave your cousin out."

Sam looked from Brandi to the bump and back again. His pacifier lay abandoned where Mary was still packing and she picked it up to set on the dresser. She had to admit, she was curious to see what Sam would do. Brandi, rather obnoxiously Mary thought, was trying way too hard to teach Sam he had a cousin on the way. The very proposal was preposterous to Mary. He was a year and a half old. As far as he was concerned, Aunt Brandi was missing a lap.

After considering, rotating another red bean in his fingers, Sam put the sweet right on top of Brandi's belly.

"Yay!" Brandi clapped her hands like a silly schoolgirl, plucked it off and scarfed it down.

Mary left the room to see what had become of Marshall while her son imitated Brandi and clapped his hands too, babbling incoherently about what he had just done.

Marshall, in transpired, was unloading snacks in the kitchen.

"Hey," he jerked his head in her direction as he bagged goldfish crackers and apple jack cereal.

Mary didn't respond to his hello and picked up one of the Ziplocs.

"For the plane," Marshall answered her question. "In case Sam gets hungry."

"Right," she answered, as though she knew. "Where'd he get jelly beans?"

"Stan," Marshall grinned and shook his head at the way their boss spoiled the little man. "He gobbled up a whole bag of them at the office. I know I shouldn't have let him but it kept him busy."

"Whatever," Mary shrugged. "It's fine."

Marshall, reading the ambiguous demeanor correctly, halted his current vocation and stepped around to her side of the counter. She was fingering a stray cheese cube absentmindedly that had escaped the package Marshall had pulled open. She kept her eyes down, but felt warmth spread into her stomach when Marshall rubbed her back lightly.

"How you doing?" he asked casually. "Tired?" he guessed.

"Somehow I manage to keep my eyes open," she supplied, looking at him this time around.

"Maybe you'll get some sleep on the plane," he offered. "I'll take care of Sam."

"Marshall, you didn't sleep either," she reminded him. "And this isn't like when Seth died. Trust me; I won't have any trouble crashing in that pillow top at your mother's. Sure beats a hotel."

Marshall nodded and was about to speak again when the front door creaked open and Peter entered, fooling around on his phone.

"Where'd you come from?" Mary asked as Marshall went back to sorting foods.

"I just came to pick up Brandi so you guys can get out of here," he answered, eyes still on his phone.

Mary was hard-pressed not to be thankful for his consideration. Brandi was likely to stay and mope all day – if nothing else, stick around to make eyes at Sam like she did every time she came over. Her nephew took precedence over almost everything.

"My bad," Peter continued a little more attentively as he shut his phone. "Tricky contract going down at the Santa Fe Dealership."

He sighed as he gave Mary his full attention, putting his hands in his pockets. Mary had yet to see him since all of this melodrama concerning James had gone down and he had a sad, sympathetic smile on his face.

"I'm sure sorry about all this Mary," he said, sweet and sensitive as always.

"You shouldn't be sorry," she said. She'd never been good at accepting apologies.

"But I am," he reinforced. "I know it's been a long time, but I'm sure it's still hard. I know Brandi was upset."

Mary had known too. She'd spent half the night on the phone with her. Fortunately, she seemed a little more composed this morning but Mary still wouldn't let on what was raging through her veins concerning the situation.

Stepping up to her brother-in-law, Mary said, "Just…keep an eye on her for me, right? The last thing we need is to have the chicken hatch the egg before landing time."

Peter chuckled at the analogy and nodded.

"I can do that," he agreed. "So long as Marshall will keep an eye on _you_ for Brandi."

"I can take care of myself," Mary replied automatically without even thinking about it, and she didn't miss Marshall sighing behind her.

She was a firm believer in the fact that you couldn't escape your nature so who cared if it ran away with her now and again?

"She's in good hands," Marshall interrupted before Mary could say anything.

Well. There was at least _one_ thing she could be sure of. Even if it was the _only_ thing.

**A/N: Not much happening in this one, but it's steady going. Thanks again for the reviews!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank-you kindly for the reviews! There was a little hitch with the posting last night – I updated way before it actually showed up on the site so it wasn't appearing till late. Anyway…water under the bridge!**

XXX

By the time the plane touched down in Kansas – an hour late – it was pouring rain, Sam was fussing loudly and Mary was pretty sure Marshall was about to flash his badge at the rental car counter trying to figure out why their reservation had been lost.

Once they were safely on the road it was close to seven and dark outside. Fortunately, the steady swish-swish of the windshield wipers seemed to be putting Sam into a trance in the backseat. He quieted down and stared, transfixed, between the gap in the seats, chewing contentedly on his pacifier.

Mary gazed out the passenger window, just as she'd done the entire airplane ride while Marshall played with Sam on his lap. She'd dozed for a little while, slipping in-and-out of sleep but Sam's mischievous jabbering kept wrenching her awake.

But now, she simply kept her gaze vacant on the rain-washed roads flicking past, the streetlamps blurring against her vision, droplets sparkling like beads of dew in crystals of light.

"What's up?" Marshall prompted, turning from the wheel briefly. "You okay?"

"How much would I have to pay you to quit asking me that?" she snarked aloud.

"Fair enough," Mary pictured him nodding even though she didn't move from her position against the cool pane of the window. "But an even hundred, just for the record."

Mary was reminded forcefully of their journey to his home on Sam's first Christmas – their last visit. She'd been unhappy then, too. Nervous and stilted and full to the brim of a lot of nameless, faceless fear. It wasn't so different from what she felt now, only it _was_ all at the same time.

She felt unsettled and sad – empty, like there was a hole, a sunken pit right in the middle of her heart and if she wasn't careful she was likely to fall right into it. The whole thing made her even more forlorn; she'd lived without James for thirty years and this was no different.

So why did she feel so bad?

"You know mom will just let you go to bed when we get to house," Marshall was saying. "She won't make you put on the proverbial charade just for her."

"Who says it's a charade?" Mary wanted to know, proving that it was.

"Nobody…" Marshall shrugged. "I just meant she's mellow – goes with the flow. You know that."

Fortunately, Mary did know that. What worried her was who else would be waiting at the house. Although she'd wanted to proceed with this trip, she couldn't help hoping Griffin and Julian would not be there when they arrived. No matter what she said, Marshall was right. She didn't have the energy to fake it for long.

The sound of familiar fretting issued from the backseat and Mary turned around to see Sam squirming and shifting in his car seat. Although dark, she was still able to see that he'd dropped one of his many beloved stuffed horses.

"Lost your steed, sheriff…" his mother groped and was able to locate it on the ground to hand it back to Sam.

"Sam, what sound does a horsie make?" Marshall asked, peering into the rearview mirror to catch his eye.

Marshall was used to asking this question even though Sam never answered. Knowing this, Marshall responded for him.

"Neigh!" he emitted in a low whinny. "Neigh!"

"Daddy's a dope," Marry shook her head sadly at the man. "Horses don't go neigh. They go…"

And she blew her lips together, flapping her gums to make a much more realistic sounding horse noise. To Mary's surprise, Sam seemed pleased with the result and grinned softly behind his pacifier. When Mary wasn't looking, Marshall smiled too.

Mary was still making her sound ten minutes later when they pulled into the driveway of Marshall's mother's house in Shawnee. Even in the twilight, Mary could see the lawn was sodden and damp with minimal patches of grass. It was mostly muck and she would have to be careful not to slog Sam through that.

"Looks like it's just us…" Marshall reported, for the driveway did not contain Griffin's or Julian's cars.

And yet, hearing the rain pelt the roof of the car, Mary suddenly wished they could just stay in its confines – sleep in blankets, the gentle hum of the heater, the drip-drop-splash of the drizzle above. Just the three of them. No one else in the world.

"I'll snag him," Marshall said, for once not reading Mary's mind.

"Use his hood," Mary reminded him. "He hates the wet on his head and I left that idiotic raincoat Brandi got him at home."

With a strange sense of longing, Mary abruptly lamented the absence of the slicker her little sister had found at Gymboree. It was Volkswagen lime green with a hood shaped like a frog's head. Mary had been horrified when Brandi had brought it home, but she found herself wishing she had it now as Sam whimpered in his old red zip-up.

Mary ducked out of the car as Marshall was dashing up the front walk, Sam in his arms. It wasn't far to the door, but all three of them were soaked by the time they arrived and Sam was crying again. Once under the awning, Marshall passed him into Mary's arms so he could open the door.

"Mom!" Marshall called as Mary stomped on the mat on the threshold, trying to entertain Sam bouncing back and forth from foot to foot.

The gusts of wind and swirling leaves died at once as Marshall slammed the hatch shut. The only sound was Sam's pitiful whimpers. Cold and likely doubly-wet was not a good combination. Mary stroked his back to soothe him and he calmed.

"Mom!" Marshall shouted again. "We're here!"

Mary was starting to believe maybe Carolyn had gone out when she suddenly appeared, racing down the stairs, joyful as ever.

"Dears!" she greeted them, soggy and bedraggled as though they were pristine, even spotless. "So sorry; I was on the phone with Griffin."

She stopped at the bottom of the steps, but went right on talking.

"_How_ you must be feeling after a night out in this God awful weather," she waved an irritable hand. "April in Kansas - the downpours never cease."

"Don't I know it," Marshall agreed. "Hi mom," and he kissed her cheek, hugging her one-armed to avoid getting her wet too.

He shook his hair like a dog, which earned him a reproachful, matronly look from Carolyn before she turned to Mary and Sam. Mary really wished she looked better and Sam was likely to start bawling all over again. He couldn't possibly remember Carolyn from his first trip and somehow, she thought Skype sessions several times a month wouldn't jog his recall. He'd only been six months old at their wedding, the last time he'd seen her.

"Mary honey," Carolyn was the only one who got away with such a term of endearment and Mary allowed her to peck her cheek in hello. She was also fully aware of the way the pitch fell in her voice when greeting her, but chose to ignore it.

"Nice to see you Carolyn," Mary replied, sounding more obligatory than she meant to. "Sorry…Sam's a little frantic at the moment…"

"Oh, Grandma doesn't mind a little grumpiness. Happens to the best of us, right Sam?" she stroked the little one's cheek, but he was looking grouchy already, and also confused.

He looked at Mary, and proved hearing the word 'grandma' seemed to trigger something in his mind.

"Jing-Jing?" he inquired.

"Ah…" Mary hurried to explain. "That's my mother. Jinx."

"Oh, of course," Carolyn waved a no-nonsense hand at the mix-up.

"Jing-Jing's not here, bud," Marshall chimed in.

Mary tried to smile at Carolyn, still feeling conspicuous and drippy in the front hall, but she didn't seem to notice. If anything, she was too wrapped up in Sam.

"Do you think he'd let me hold him?" she wondered, tone completely even and relaxed.

Mary wanted to kiss her for asking. She hated when people snatched Sam out of her arms as though he were some lucky charm, some figure on display and then she felt even worse when he got scared and cried. Even with the grandmother-puzzler, he seemed to be in a decent mood and Mary was okay passing him off.

"Sure…" she shifted the baby onto Carolyn's hip where he stayed quiet but inquisitive, eyes scanning from Mary to Marshall and back again.

"So Mary…" Carolyn went on without further ado, her voice kind and empathetic. "I understand you had kind of a rough night."

So Marshall had managed to tell her already. How _did_ he do it?

Mary merely nodded at first, then swallowed and said, "Yeah…I guess."

"Well, you take it easy while you're here," she instructed. "If you know how to do that," a playful smile danced on her lips and Marshall chuckled.

"It's…no big deal," Mary shrugged, referring to her situation and didn't have the faintest inkling why she was saying it. It was a huge deal, no matter what way she sliced it, but admitting that was too weak-willed and foolhardy.

"My father was an immoral, unlawful criminal," she stated, like she was in court. "He hasn't been a part of my life for a long time."

She felt Marshall put his arm around her and her heart twittered dangerously in her ribcage. All this fibbing was getting to her and she wanted to run – or whisk Marshall upstairs, or grab Sam and fly the coop. She couldn't bear to stay or go.

Carolyn seemed to notice her tense and shot Marshall the briefest of stricken-looks before waving a hand indiscriminately behind her, indicating the kitchen.

"You two come sit," she said, brushing over Mary's words and jouncing Sam around as she walked ahead of them. "I'm sure you don't want coffee at this hour, but I've got tea."

Still balancing Sam on her hip, she rummaged in the upper cabinets for mugs.

"Unless you want to put some dry clothes on first," she turned briefly, hand poised in midair waiting for a response.

"I'm okay for now," Marshall said, taking a seat on one of two swiveled bar stools that had not been present at their last visit. "You good, babe?"

It was still the only affectionate nickname she let slide with Marshall and she nodded, sitting down beside him.

"Only…no tea for me," Mary interjected as Carolyn took out the packets. "Thanks Carolyn."

Mary hated tea and it gave her flashbacks to when she'd been pregnant with Sam and it was the only thing she'd been allowed to drink – other than about ten glasses of water a day.

"Can I get you something else?" she asked, head buried in the cupboard. Sam had captured a stringed bag and was yanking it up and down in his fingers, swinging it side to side.

Mary wasn't really used to people waiting on her. Try as he might, she rarely let Marshall get away with it. By and large, she was so much the same person she had been before they'd gotten together and had Sam. Her husband insisted she'd softened but the yearning deep in her chest at losing her father convinced Mary otherwise.

"Oh, I have hot chocolate!" Carolyn proclaimed before Mary could answer. "Some of that?"

Mary knew if she didn't agree she'd be turning down offers all night, so she went with what was easy.

"Sounds great," she bobbed her head up and down. "Thanks."

"Wonderful," Carolyn replied with her usual positivity, tossing packets of coco mix onto the counter, along with a sack of marshmallows. "And Sam the man here can have a snack."

Mary grinned at her son having yet another moniker, mostly because Stan was already _Stan_ the man and to attach both was sometimes too confusing. Still, Carolyn couldn't know that.

She marched back over to the counter on Mary's and Marshall's side and deposited Sam on top.

"Squishy, mushy marshmallows," she teased invitingly, opening the bag so Sam could have some. "Every boy's favorite."

Sam immediately shoved his hand into the sack and started stuffing himself with the sweets, which caused Marshall to laugh. One thing he had definitely obtained from Mary was his ability to eat like a horse – only fitting since he was wild about the animal.

"So, you two…" Carolyn kept up her steady stream of conversation as she put water on to boil across the room. "I gather there's going to be excitement in your neck of the woods soon. Another Shannon joining the pack?"

She smiled at the thought and Mary had to admire the way she extended her kindness and generosity even to Mary's immediate family.

"Yes," she said, stealing a few marshmallows herself before Sam devoured them all. "My little sister Brandi is gonna have a baby."

Mary didn't know why _still_ referred to Brandi as her little sister, not to mention thought of her as such. She was all grown-up now. Her current condition proved it.

"She's pretty far along now isn't she?" Carolyn stepped over to stand across from them.

"Thirty-six weeks," Marshall reported. "Getting down to the wire."

"Boy?" Carolyn inquired, eyebrows raised and so reminiscent of Marshall, Mary was startled. "Girl?"

"Don't know," Mary answered. "Brandi's…kind of into surprises."

She didn't know why she said it like it was a bad thing. To avoid elaborating on the subject, she unzipped Sam's jacket to reveal the overalls he'd been wearing earlier underneath. She managed to pry his fingers loose for a fraction of a second to wiggle him out of the coat. He whined, but Mary knew it would be worse if he got too hot because being so made him extremely agitated.

"Speaking of surprises," Carolyn said playfully, and she left her post, striding into the living room which caused Mary and Marshall to turn. "I have a little something for our marshmallow-hound over here."

And she took a gift bag off the coffee table that Mary hadn't noticed. It was red, tissue paper poking out the top, adorned with a dancing bear and building blocks.

"Oh…" Mary breathed softly as her mother-in-law made her way back, wiggling the sack enticingly. "Carolyn…you really didn't…"

Mary wasn't sure what she was going to say, so she just trailed off without even finishing.

"Oh please," she ignored Mary's incoherence with guffaw. "What are grandmother's good for if not to spoil their offspring? I know _all_ about showering my boys with gifts."

She reached over and rumpled Marshall's damp hair and he grinned impishly, mouth full of cookies that had been in a can on the counter.

Mary was still sitting with what she guessed to be a very odd look on her face and the woman had to place the bag into her hands. Deciding she was too tired to fight the gesture, she swiveled her stool back around to speak to Sam.

"Look Smush…" she tugged the sack up and down in front of his line of vision, flashing its bright colors. "Grandma got you a present," and she slid it across to him.

Most mothers would just rip open the confines themselves to save time, but Mary enjoyed watching Sam finger through the tissue paper, ripping a few pieces in the process. Eventually, the whole thing just tipped over into his lap which made Marshall chortle again.

"Bound and determined is my boy," he commented sagely. "Slow and steady wins the race."

"Yeah, thanks Dickens," Mary joshed and it was Carolyn who laughed this time.

Once he managed to pull out all the wrapping, he fumbled and felt around for what lay inside. After a moment, he came up with a short length of rope wound into a spiral, about four feet long when undone.

"Sam, it's a lasso!" Mary told him, working some enthusiasm into her voice. "You corral the horses with it!"

He stared blankly for a minute, but he did seem to be enjoying the roughness of the twine beneath his fingers. Snaking it out a few times, he tried spinning it on the counter top.

"Lasso," Mary repeated. "Say it – lasso."

Sam considered and blurted out, "'Ass-o."

Mary bit her lip trying not to giggle.

"All the cowboys have one Sam," Marshall assured him. And then, their son's favorite question in the world, "Is Sam a cowboy?"

On cue, he screamed in boisterous enthusiasm, "Yeah!"

It didn't matter who asked it, where or when, and Mary wondered all the time whether Sam understood what the hell he was saying but his answer was always the same. A resolute and resounding yes – Sam is a cowboy. Or a sheriff, in more technical terms.

"Think you forgot something in there…" Mary pulled the sack toward her to grab the piece of cloth she still saw inside; a classic, navy-blue bandanna in exactly Sam's size.

Abandoning the lasso, he swiftly grabbed the material but clearly didn't have a clue what to do with it this time.

"Part of your killer style…" Mary said and she guided the little one in beside her, tying the bandanna loosely around his neck. Cliché it might've been, but she couldn't help thinking it looked awesome with his overalls.

"You're ready to ride the reins, partner!" Marshall declared.

"Thank-you Carolyn," Mary said sincerely.

"It's no problem, honey," she said, casual as always.

Sam crawled across the counter to Marshall, dragging the lasso along with him. She watched Marshall transfer him into his lap, whispering softly about cowboys and plantations and whipping his rope. Sam stared up at him – all wonder and trust as though he understood every single word.

And Mary, very low and deep in her heart, felt the ache recede. Just a little.

**A/N: Pretty smooth sailing so far, but you never know what's around the corner! Bear that in mind for most of the story LOL! Please review if you have a minute – would totally make my day!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Your reviews have been priceless – all of you! Thank-you so much for taking the time!**

XXX

Just as she predicted, Mary crashed hard once she and Marshall went to bed that night. They settled Sam in the crib in Marshall's bedroom, and he was delighted with his living quarters – cowboys galore. Marshall wanted to try and let him sleep in the twin bed instead of the crib, but Mary was extremely leery of the idea. Sensing that he shouldn't push it, Marshall gave up the ghost quickly.

The pair of them set up residence in the guest room, bringing on all kinds of memories for Mary from her original trip to the homeland when Seth had died. For some reason, they made her sad and it was with these gloomy thoughts that she drifted off to sleep.

The familiar noise woke her at around 2:30 in the morning, judging by the digital clock on the nightstand. Marshall's deep breathing beside her convinced her he had not been shaken from his slumber, but it seemed Mary would recognize that cry anywhere.

Floating up the hall as though on air or wings was the telltale whimper of Sam in his bedroom. Mary knew she wouldn't be able to let him wear himself out – it was his scared and unhappy cry, not his bored or annoyed wail. She hated the sound because it was the hardest one to fix but this time; Mary thought she knew what might be keeping him awake. The rain had ascended into a full-fledged downpour outside the window, complete with low rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning.

Trying to get out of bed quietly so she wouldn't wake Marshall, Mary tiptoed to the door, closed it behind her, and then ventured back up the hall.

The cowboy room was bathed in a very dim yellow since Marshall had plugged in a nightlight to cut against the pitch darkness. Bending over Sam's crib, Mary saw his big eyes – round and wet with tears, simply fussing softly. She recognized the look; frightened and confused in this new place with all these loud noises shaking around him.

"Sam buddy…" she whispered gently, trying to sound comforting.

If she wasn't mistaken, the fear left his features only slightly.

"What's wrong, Smush?" she asked, and the minute he saw her extend her big hands – circular palms and long fingers – he did the same in imitation.

"Come here…come see mama…" she pulled him out of the crib under his arms and he immediately nuzzled his head against her chest, still weeping pitifully, tiny tremors shaking his little body.

Mary was astonished. She had thought with the mention of 'mama' he would descend right into epic wails for 'da-da' but he didn't. He burrowed into Mary – warm and damp like a puppy left in the storm. His mother shifted from foot to foot in rhythm as she held him close, rocking and clucking her tongue quietly.

"Shh…" she soothed, rubbing circles onto his back. "Shh…"

His sleeper was fleece, blue with rockets printed on it. She could tell as she patted his butt that he wasn't wet – still only uncertain in this strange new world. A thought only reinforced when another fork of lightning hit the room, followed by a particularly strident roar of thunder.

Sam cried all over again, squirming against Mary, tears fresh and new against his cheeks.

"Oh buddy…" she stroked his hair to keep him from wiggling and had a sudden idea.

She walked with him to the window positioned just to the left of Marshall's bed and pulled the curtains aside to reveal the chaos raging outside. Sam's eyes, glimmering with tears, looked wide with alarm in the sudden light of the outdoors.

"Look Sam…" she put her free hand on the cool windowpane, drawing lines that matched the rain running down on the other side. "It's out there…and we're in here…"

Cautiously, Sam copied his mother and put his own pudgy hand to the glass and felt it – dry.

"See it run?" Mary tickled her fingers against the drops scuttling down the window. "They're racing each other to see who wins."

Sam flexed his own fingers, but mostly watched Mary's making the motion.

"The big light…" Mary whispered as more flashes lit both their faces in odd shadow. "That's so everyone can see the track in the dark…" she fabricated as she went along.

"And that noise is the crowd cheering," she referred to the thunder. "That's not scary. Not for a big strong sheriff like you," she kissed his temple and murmured softly in his ear as she wrapped up her story.

He had quieted down, but still looked vaguely unsettled so Mary closed the drapes and bounced him back to the center of the room, held tight against her chest. Having him this close, tunneling in against her, reminded Mary of when he was much smaller – just a newborn. It brought on thoughts of Marshall's refrain just minutes after he'd been born, telling her skin-to-skin was warmest as Sam lay on her chest. And it was. It really was.

As if on cue, Marshall entered. He looked sleepy and lazy, his eyes dusted in shattered dreams.

"Hey…" he murmured, rubbing one lid with his fingers. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah," Mary nodded against him, suddenly feeling shy and wondering if Marshall had heard her silly tale. "He's fine. Just woke up a little lost, I think."

"All right…" Marshall yawned. "Why don't you let me take him so you can go back to bed?" he offered, extending his hand, but Mary shook her head.

"I've got him," she promised. "You sleep. I'll be in soon."

Marshall hesitated before agreeing, but leaned over and kissed the top of Sam's head and then Mary's cheek.

"I'll be waiting," he said sweetly and Mary smiled softly back as he exited, closing the door behind him.

In Marshall's absence, Mary made her way to the bed in the corner and settled Sam in her lap, fingering and pulling her nails through his dark, wavy hair. He gazed up at her when they sat down, his baby blue eyes large in the dimness.

It was such a funny thing about his eyes, Mary always reflected. Hers were green and Mark's were brown and so when it was obvious Sam's were blue, she hadn't quite understood how. Foolishly and secretly, Mary liked to believe they came from Marshall even though she knew it was impossible. Brandi's eyes were blue and James' had been too, which attributed to her husband's logical explanation of how he'd gotten the shade. Though Mary never told anyone, she liked her reasoning better.

The weight in her chest returned in full force at the thought of James. She knew it wasn't smart to let him invade her mind in the middle of the night because it just made the thoughts seem that much more haunting when she was exhausted. But she couldn't help it and try as she might, she couldn't lift the heavy load resting in her heart.

He was _never_ coming back.

Why did she keep focusing on that? For all intents and purposes, she'd known it was true for decades. But some stupid, childish part of her had always believed he might return again – a part she couldn't share with Marshall because it embarrassed her more than she cared to admit. Placing all of her stock and hopes into a man who never failed to let her down.

She had a husband and a son, and shouldn't that be enough?

Sam's contended sigh as his mother continued to rub his hair and graze her fingers through the strands convinced her it had to be. It just had to be.

It was long after Sam had already gone back to sleep, breathing serenely on Mary's lap, that she kept staring through the darkness while the storm raged beyond. The nightlight cast a bizarre, otherworldly glow on the edges of her subconscious. It was like the beam at the end of the tunnel she couldn't run to or reach no matter how fast or far she stretched.

Had James ever held her like this? Sat up with her at night? Stroked her hair and stayed the course until she no longer remained frightened and gone astray?

She didn't know how long she sat, consumed with thoughts of her father, until Marshall emerged, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, seeing Sam passed out against her stomach, thumb in his mouth. "Aren't you coming back to bed?"

Mary didn't know how to answer. The lightness of her son in her arms was keeping her rooted to the spot and she felt certain if she spoke she would cry and she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let Marshall see her that way.

Fortunately, as Marshall always did, seemed to understand. He journeyed over and Mary automatically nudged sideways, careful not to disturb Sam. It was too small on the bed for all three of them, but it always had been.

"Come here…" she heard her husband say quietly and she let her temple fall to his shoulder.

She wanted to say the words. She wanted to fall apart and admit that her dimwitted expectations and wishes had been dashed, never to return. But she couldn't.

"I'm sorry you're sad," Marshall murmured from above her.

He craved, with obsessive desire and everything he possessed that he could make it better for her. But first she had to succumb to the comfort and he knew he'd have to wait that out.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked anyway. "Anything you want?"

And he meant _anything_.

But, even as the hurt spread from her chest to her gut and she wondered how on earth she was going to scrape her way out of this hole, with the soft pitter-patter of rain outside and her head fallen into Marshall's chest now, she found herself marveling in what in the world could be better than this.

Sam exhaled low in his sleep and Mary felt her heart teeter precariously on the brink of breaking.

"Just you…" she whispered, feeling Marshall kiss her hair. "You're all I want."

**A/N: A tad on the short side, but worth it I hope. (Especially since the chapters at the end are way long!) And like I said…watch for shifts in demeanor…you never know with Mary…**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I love you all for reviewing! I often fear the general consensus on my fics will be that they are too sappy, but no matter what it seems I have you loyal readers hanging on, so it's all good! Great, actually! Thank-you, thank-you, and thank-you again!**

**By the by, the update is early today because I've got finals tonight so I wasn't sure when I'd be able to post. And you guys are always so good giving me something to come back to! ;) **

XXX

The storm blew itself out by morning, but left both the front and backyard looking like a very marshy swamp. Sam was in a foul mood when Mary tried to get him dressed and she eventually gave up he was fighting her so badly. She called in Marshall to deal with him, which made her feel inadequate and even more frustrated.

"Someone's being a grouchy pants today," Marshall remarked as he stood Sam in the middle of his cowboy room, wiggling his kicking legs into a pair of jeans.

Mary scowled above him, arms crossed and sullen, not wanting Marshall to see how aggravated and upset the situation made her. She knew it shouldn't – Sam was often sour around people he didn't know and could be quite the hellion when he was feeling stubborn. Why it was bothering her so severely, she didn't like to think about.

"Don't you want to be a gentleman for your cousins?" Marshall asked, yanking a T-shirt over his head as he yowled in protest.

It was another one Brandi had given him and Mary hadn't realized she'd packed it. Strictly speaking, she only bought Sam very basic clothes; she hated ones with stupid cutesy sayings on them, which made her the exact opposite of her sister. This particular one was fire-engine red with a garishly yellow baby chicken on the front spelling out the words, 'Chicks Dig Me.'

"That shirt isn't funny," Mary groused, wondering why she'd let Marshall put it on.

"I think it is," he said casually. "And not untrue," he raised his eyebrows boyishly.

"You think everything's funny," she reminded him churlishly.

Sam had another dozen of such shirts that Brandi just kept buying even though Mary told her that were moronic – 'Let it Bee' with the insect, 'Feeling Crabby' with a crustacean. Simplistic humor was wasted on her.

Marshall stood, clearly noticing her poor attitude and released Sam. He dove after one of his pickup trucks, scattered amongst the toys littering the floor.

"You want to talk?" he prodded delicately, placing a hand briefly on her arm before pulling it back again.

"No, I don't want to talk" she said sharply, burrowing further inside her defensive pose. "There's nothing to talk about. I just don't see why he has to be so difficult."

Marshall sighed, knowing that wasn't it. She dealt with Sam and his highs and lows all the time.

"Are you sure you're up to all the…family frivolity today?" he asked, looking concerned. "Because we can do our own thing – the three of us."

"Marshall, no we can't," she said, shaking her head and shutting him down completely. "I don't care how understanding your mother is, we cannot just ditch her and the rest of the brood."

"But she'll get it, I mean…" Marshall shrugged, hands going to his pockets. "After what you've been through…"

"I haven't _been through_ anything," Mary snapped agitatedly, unfolding her arms and sticking her hands on her hips. "You gonna get that through your head?"

She knew she was being harsh, not to mention nasty but she didn't care. The last thing she wanted was to have this discussion here – now. Not to mention she didn't want to have it at all.

Marshall didn't back down. He remained moderate and went right on talking.

"Mare, don't do this…" he implored, hands out in front of him as though in defense. He advanced toward her again, hoping to open her up.

"Don't do _what_?" she barked, annoyance level rising almost to the breaking point.

"Don't shut yourself away. Please…" he said quietly. "Please, let me help you…"

Sam wailed from behind them, tugging on the strap of the open suitcase on the bed, clearly wanting something that was inside. Mary turned and saw that he had more than enough; she was unwilling to expend the energy at the moment.

"Sam, stop it," she said firmly.

"Here man…" Marshall bent and grabbed his black horse from the floor, less worn than his brown one. "Play with this."

Sam took it, but was clearly dissatisfied and continued to complain loudly but both Mary and Marshall ignored him this time.

"You're putting up the walls…refusing to let me in…" Marshall went right on as though there had been no interruption. "Mare, it isn't healthy…"

"Well, thanks for that bit of information Doctor Freud," she rebutted waspishly, raising her voice to make herself heard over Sam's whining while he tugged on Marshall's pant leg. "You knew what you were getting in this union. I know how to take care of myself."

"That doesn't mean you have to!" Marshall was shouting now too, for more than just Sam and his protests.

He was hard-pressed not to feel perturbed by Mary's sudden withdrawal. Just last night she'd snuggled against him in the dark and now she was folding, calling his bluff and acting tough about the whole thing. It took him back to the days before they'd been together – and not in a good way.

"I care about you – I love you," he went on, tone stretched to the edge now as Sam's cries jumped another octave. "What do you think is going to happen if you break down? That I won't anymore?"

"I don't know!" she shouted back. "I don't know and I don't care – all I know is-!" but she didn't finish because Sam screeched and threw himself down on the floor, determined to have someone hear him out and give him what he wanted.

"Jesus Christ; what is his problem?" Mary exploded, unable to keep the rage at bay. "What does he want? You know full well I don't have a clue!"

Marshall didn't see how placing blame on herself for something that wasn't her fault was going to help, but it was not the issue to address at this point.

"I'm gonna go give him to mom," Marshall decided, bending and picking him up, tears streaming down his flushed face.

"No," Mary interjected before he could leave, clearly determined to be disagreeable. "You can't pawn him off when he's like this!"

"I'm not pawning him off!" Marshall was annoyed now, and also indignant.

"Then what the hell are you doing?" she asked, hands back on her hips and noting in the back of her mind that she was going to have to stop cursing so much if she ever wanted Sam to expand on a more appropriate vernacular. "Give him to me."

Marshall wasn't sure it was the best idea but he wasn't about to argue with her.

"Sam…" Mary began once he was in her arms, trying to look into his eyes which were squeezed shut from bawling. "Sam, come on…" she tried to keep her voice even but Marshall heard the anxiety inch its way through.

"Listen to me…talk," she emphasized the last word. "Talk to mama. Talk. Tell me. Tell me what you want," she chattered. "What do you want?"

Marshall did not see this ending well and was about to say as much but decided against it. He wasn't the least bit concerned about Sam's verbal skills – he would say more when he was ready. But no matter how many times he tried to convince Mary it was perfectly ordinary, he always saw her wearing thin at the topic of discussion and Sam's avoidance of 'mama' except in very rare cases did not help.

Their son finally paused to take a breath, gulping dramatically as he tried to get a grip. Mary nodded, waiting to see what came next.

"Ba-ba…" he moaned pitifully, face sticky from tears. "Ba-ba…"

Mary wasn't satisfied but she was too strung out to ask for more. She also couldn't help wondering if this was really what he desired, or if he was just skating by to avoid giving up what he truly longed for. She also knew, somewhere in her subconscious, that she was going to have to wean him off his bottle soon but now really wasn't the time to think about that.

"I'll get it," Marshall sighed tiredly as Sam hiccupped and Mary patted has back in hopes that it would cease.

Just as he reached the door, clearly resigned to the fact that Mary wasn't going to be pushed anytime soon, her phone sounded on top of the dresser, vibrating loudly against the wood. It was Mary's turn to sigh as she strode over and Marshall paused in the doorframe.

"This had better not be Brandi…" she muttered, for she had already heard from Jinx once, bemoaning Mary's exit while the two of them were suffering such strife.

Seeing the ID, it was worse than she could've expected.

"Oh shit…" she slipped for the second time in two minutes and shut her eyes.

"What?" Marshall prompted, abandoning his post at the door.

"It's Mark," she lamented while the cell continued to buzz. If nothing else, it was entertaining Sam but Mary swung him over on her hip to keep it out of his reach.

"You don't have to answer," Marshall advised.

"If I want to get rid of him I do."

Without another word, she picked up but did not intend to spend a lot of time on chit-chat.

"Mark, this isn't a good time," she greeted him, no further ado necessary.

"You always say that," he sang cheerily from his end of the phone. He sounded like he was on a bus or a train; something was rattling noisily in the background.

"So believe me this time," she suggested. "What do you want?"

"I just wondered if I could stop in to see Sam this weekend. I don't have any jobs to do and it's been awhile…"

Mary was instantly grateful she had an excuse.

"You can't," she informed him at once. "I'm not at home. Marshall and I went to Kansas to visit his mom."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone, or at least the absence of Mark's usual, upbeat optimism. Mary really knew she should be nicer to him. When Sam had been born, she had practically begged the guy to step aside in favor of Marshall. Shockingly, he'd agreed but Mark usually went with the flow and had claimed he wanted his kid to have a father. Living in Jersey, he wasn't going to be able to give him that. Thus, Marshall was daddy and Mark was Mark and that was that. They were basically working out the rest as they went. Mary figured they could wait until Sam was older to explain the convoluted family situation they'd gotten him into.

Mary also hadn't forgotten her original wish for her child to have two parents that loved not only him, but each other. At least Mark knew, having known her when she was younger, what kind of issues she had with broken families and absentee fathers.

"Well…sometime soon?" her ex finally asked cautiously. "I mean…I know what we decided on, but…"

"No," Mary interrupted; shaking her head and feeling it pound beneath her fingers. If she kept on like this she was going to get sick. "Yes – soon," she changed her answer. "Just…give me some notice, all right? No dropping your bags on my doorstep or anything."

Mark chuckled and said, "Deal," and then, "How you guys doing anyway?"

This was not a question Mary had any inkling to answer. Sam was fussing again, trying desperately to grab the phone from her ear and she had to keep shifting him away.

"Fine," she lied. "But Marshall's brothers are gonna be here soon and we've gotta get Sam ready."

As ready as he was ever going to be.

"All right," Mark said, agreeable as ever. "I guess I won't keep you. Talk soon?"

"Sure," she huffed, not without her usual sarcasm and she hung up without saying goodbye.

As she placed her phone back on the dresser, she pretended not to notice Marshall watching her with a critical eye. She dropped Sam gently onto the bed now that he was quiet and set about picking up his things around the room, not wanting to leave a mess for Carolyn. Although he was the only grandchild to occupy this room – thus far – she didn't think it was right to leave the crap strewn all over the place. Never mind that Sam would just spread it all out again later.

"So…" Marshall bent to help her gather up the trucks and horses, cows and other farm animals among the group.

"So what?" she tried to keep the edge to her voice, not meeting his eye.

"Why didn't you tell Mark?" he asked, tossing a pickup and speed racer into the suitcase.

"And tell him what?" she looked up this time, tossing her hair out of her eyes and looking fierce.

"About your dad," he replied swiftly. "I'm sure he'd be sympathetic."

Mary thought it was wildly unconventional that Marshall had more faith in Mark than she did. It didn't improve her mood either.

"Because I didn't want to," she responded childishly. "Because it's none of his business. Because I've got bigger things to worry about than some ex-douche bag feeling sorry for me…"

"I get it," Marshall held up a hand, clearly done with trying to pry open her emotions.

Mary paused, considering his patience and cocking her head, Sam's plastic airplane hanging limply in her right hand. Everything she'd been saying and doing in the last ten minutes suddenly crashed down on her and she wanted to tell Marshall he was insane for putting up with her psychotic behavior. Why was he so tolerant when she treated him so badly? It made her wonder why he'd ever married her in the first place.

She sighed and let her heavy, leaden-feet take her to stand next to him beside the bed. Placing the jet on top of the other toys, she looked at him for real. He was just waiting, blue eyes tranquil and still on her green ones.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, so quietly she wondered if he even heard.

Glancing at Sam, motoring around efficiently in the suitcase beside them, she felt even worse.

Running her hand over his hair she said, "I'm sorry I'm such a selfish…" she cast around for the word. "Brat."

She'd wanted to say 'bitch' but had managed to restrain herself with Sam sitting there.

Marshall didn't say anything, but put both hands on her cheeks, holding her face firmly in his palms. There, he tipped her lightly forward and kissed her forehead. Even after the peck, he wouldn't let go and stared straight into her eyes.

"You are neither selfish, nor a brat," he stated as though it were a fact. "You're hurting and trying to cover it up and it's making it a thousand times worse."

Mary couldn't respond to that – what would she say? – but fortunately she didn't have to. Marshall's fingers fell from her cheeks as they heard the sound of the front door opening on the floor below.

"Mom!" the familiar voice of Julian floated up the stairs. "Marshall!"

It was Carolyn who left her room first and it was then that Mary heard the shouts and squeals of the kids, bouncing their little feet against the floorboards for hugs and kisses and she immediately heard Griffin's tone as well. A proverbial three-ring-circus waiting just beneath.

"You gonna make it?" Marshall asked, seeing the apprehension on her face as though they were heading into a war.

Mary longed to tell him no. But at the same time, she didn't know what she'd rather have and so she nodded, pulling in all of her resolve to be positive. Claire would be here – Daniel and Quinn were always good for a laugh. The twins adored Sam even though they were eleven now and middle school girls did not sit well with her. She could always escape to Marshall or Carolyn if things became overwhelming.

More than ever, she remembered her conviction in being there for Marshall when Seth had died. This was important to him too and this, if nothing else, should keep her moving.

"I'll be fine," she assured him with a slow and steady nod. "Just…I don't want to talk about James. I can't," she felt her voice crack with the admission. "Promise?"

Marshall gave her a sad smile and patted cheek lovingly.

"Promise."

**A/N: Could you guess it was gonna get testy? With Mary around, it tends to be commonplace! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank-you for the good luck on my finals, jekkah (and for all the reviews!) Also, for those who have asked – Mark was not meant to be a plot point in the last chapter. I just wanted to show what had been done with him, since I did make mention in the epilogue of the original story. No worries!**

XXX

Mary was mystified by the idea of family gatherings where the whole group just sat around and…talked. If she had to gather periodically with Jinx and Brandi just to swap stories she'd kill herself. In theory, she supposed she understood. Marshall didn't see his relatives nearly as often as Mary saw hers, but just the same. No plans were made, no activities to be engaged in – just chatter.

And Mary was figuring out very quickly how bad at it she was. Even Sam managed to cheer up; he thrived under the attention of his cousins, more specifically Sophie and Sarah who were more than happy to amuse him.

"This shirt is _so_ cute!" Sarah squealed from her spot in the living room where she was playing what Mary guessed to be house with Sam and her twin sister. "Where did you get it Mary?"

Mary was in the kitchen, stationed beside Marshall, glued to his hip while he made conversation with Griffin and his wife, Connie.

She must not have been registering the words, because Marshall had to nudge her with his elbow.

"Mare?" he prompted and she shook her head, snapping back in.

"What?"

"Sarah wants to know where you got Sam's shirt."

And this was important…why?

"Oh…" Mary started as both twins ventured into the kitchen, dragging Sam by the hand. He was grinning impishly under all the focus being on him.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "My sister Brandi got it for him."

Was she really the only one in the world who despised those schmaltzy tops? He was a boy, not a fashion plate.

"It's _adorable_!" Sophie gushed, plucking at it with her fingers, which apparently tickled Sam because he giggled.

"The ladies do love him," Marshall remarked before Mary could interrupt with something snarky as Sarah fingered the outline of the printed chick. "I imagine his new cousin will get the hand-me-downs."

"What cousin?" Sophie continued.

Not wanting to elaborate on the subject she felt she'd already explained far too many times already, Mary quickly relayed the details of Brandi's pregnancy to the twins.

"_So_ cool!" Sarah decided. "Can she and the baby come here sometime?"

"Oh…I don't, I don't know…" Mary fumbled, not having expected such an idea.

Mary was thrown by this suggestion, the very thought startling to her. Brandi and Marshall's family? They hadn't had much interaction at the wedding. Strictly speaking, it was unwise for Mary and Marshall to have visitors due to the nature of their jobs and their nuptials had taken place over a year ago during a long weekend the previous April. It had been small – Marshall's family and hers, along with Stan – but it was imperative nobody overstayed their welcome in case something of a sensitive nature came up.

"She'd love you guys," Marshall was speaking over Mary's awkward blundering. "It'd be a lot of fun if she could visit."

Sarah and Sophie clearly thought so too, but Mary didn't want to think about it.

The girls tore off with Sam, back to the living room to continue their games. Daniel and Quinn were playing at the kitchen table with a bucket of army men, making lots of gun noises. Carolyn had disappeared momentarily with Claire, and Julian and his wife had their heads in the fridge looking for drinks.

"So Marshall…" Griffin went on after the girls had ran off, taking a sip of the Coke in his hand. "How's work?"

Marshall shook his head, a defiant but kind smile on his face.

"I love how you continue to believe I'll slip up one of these days and give you details," he stated smartly. "It's endearing, really."

"Hey!" Griffin pretended to be offended. "Just making conversation."

Mary snorted a little louder than she meant to into her own drink – a scotch Marshall had somehow scrounged around for her to chug. It burned her throat and she wasn't used to slogging it back so early in the day, but at least she knew Jinx would be proud.

"No, scratch endearing," Marshall went on. "It's just pathetic."

"God, you sound like dad," Griffin chuckled. "It's scary. Right down to the pitch-perfect speech about how, 'we cops live by the letter of the law. No exceptions – no excuses,'" he altered his timbre at the end to sound gruff as Seth had.

Marshall let a chortle escape and nodded, clearly unable to deny the accusation.

"You let me know when you figure out how to keep your mouth shut when it's important," he teased just as Julian walked by.

"Burn!" the younger one said and smacked Griffin on the back. Even Connie laughed as Julian's bride, Kim, shot him a reproachful look.

Mary just stood, sipping her scotch and wondering if this conversation would become more interesting if she were drunk. Somehow, she doubted it. She continued to doubt it until it shifted into more dangerous waters and her body went on high alert.

"Okay-okay…" Griffin held up his hands in defeat. "Enough picking on the poor ignored middle man. You know I got the shaft when we were growing up…"

"Oh, come on!" Julian interjected loudly. "Dad got you that brand new ten speed for your eleventh birthday and then I got stuck with it when you blew the spokes out!"

"Remember when we went fishing at the lake that one summer and he helped you reel in that six pound catfish?" Griffin spoke to Julian this time.

"Yeah, and Marshall wouldn't eat it because it was, 'looking at him.'" Julian smirked obnoxiously at his oldest brother, whose cheeks turned red with the recollection.

"Is it wrong to want to spare the poor, unsuspecting creature that just got a hook in his mouth whatever dignity it might have left in this cruel poach-man's world…?" Marshall dictated philosophically.

Griffin and Julian guffawed with disdain and Mary could just picture the younger Marshall refusing to snack on the live bait.

"I remember the road trips," Griffin detailed. "Riding in the backseat – pitch black on the plains, all smushed together, dad with his foot on the pedal and no map to home…"

"Nothing but the sound of the road in the dark," Marshall said softly.

Mary felt a lump in her throat at the memory and she had to stop drinking. Marshall had told her that story the very first time they'd met, and she'd told him about how James used to take her out at night – just the two of them. Those times seemed so far away now, almost as though somebody else had lived them, like a younger, more naive sister she'd somehow lost.

Had her father ever done anything like Seth had done for his boys? Fishing at the lake – beautiful birthday presents and tales that circled even years after they were long gone. It scared her that she couldn't even remember her first seven years as well as she used to, try as she might to hold them in one piece. But they just keep slipping through her palm, like water or sand – draining and gliding to the ground.

"Dad was a badass," Julian remarked fondly, and Kim hit him on the arm.

"Julian, the kids are sitting right there!" she scolded him for his language.

"What?" he shrugged like the typical man he was. "I'm just stating a fact. I was _going_ to say he was a badass, but he loved us. Piss him off and watch your back; he was always there defending us to the bitter end if some poor bastard was dumb enough to challenge the Mann men to a fight."

"God Julian!" his wife shoved his shoulder in agitation at his string of cursing.

For some reason, it affected Mary entirely differently, despite the less-than-poetic semblance of Julian's words. What must that be like to have a dad who always came to your rescue, to count on him day and night no matter what you did wrong?

Marshall seemed to sense Mary having trouble with all the fatherly talk and she saw him open his mouth to change the subject, but she couldn't do it.

Shoving her empty scotch glass into his palm she said, "Excuse me a minute…"

She curled up, around Marshall's back, striding quickly past the far side of the counter and stopped at the stairs, one hand on the newel post. She took a few breaths to try and get back in control, shutting her eyes and trying to block out the thoughts that were swirling and haunting her mind. She couldn't fall apart – not here, not now.

She expected Marshall to arrive in a matter of moments and was therefore surprised when Carolyn and Claire pranced down the stairs. Unfortunately, she wasn't prepared for their entrance and was still hunched over and breathing deeply when they stopped at the bottom.

"Mary…" Carolyn said concernedly.

She looked up, trying to appear impassive. In reality, she had no idea how bad she seemed under the guise of playing it cool. Claire was staring curiously, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Sweet pea, go see what Sam is up to," Carolyn instructed, patting Claire's behind to prompt her into the living room. "I bet he'd love that toy pistol you found of Daniel's."

It was then Mary noticed the miniature gun Claire had in her hand. Well, at least he'd be like his mother in part.

Trying to save face, she managed a weak smile for her niece.

"He would," she said. "Cowboys are his favorite."

"I know!" Claire squealed enthusiastically. "He's way cooler than Daniel. Mommy said when he was a baby he liked to play with Sophie's tea set," she revealed with vigor.

Carolyn chuckled and said, "All right cutie; go see what he thinks of that pistol…"

Without another word, Claire raced off and it was clear from the look on Carolyn's face that Mary wasn't doing a very good job of hiding her feelings. She felt prickly and very prominent, like everyone was watching her even though it was just the two of them.

Carolyn wasted no time in assessing her demeanor.

"Honey, are you all right?" she asked, touching her shoulder gently. "I know you must be feeling mixed up something awful…Marshall told me about…"

But she didn't finish because Marshall himself appeared, looking harassed and also worried. Seeing Carolyn with her hand still on Mary's shoulder, his eyes flickered to his mother to his wife and back again.

Blissfully, Carolyn was adept at taking the hint.

"I'll give you two a minute," she said. "If you need to get out for awhile it's no problem at all."

"Sure mom," Marshall smiled at her as she headed back to the kitchen.

Mary knew she should say something too, knew how lucky she was to have such an understanding mother-in-law. She didn't have a clue how Peter managed with Jinx or, indeed, how Brandi managed with Dora. Fortunately, she didn't have to voice any of this because Marshall jumped right in with both feet.

"Mary, I'm really sorry," he said sympathetically. "They didn't know; I should have said something…"

"No," Mary shook her head, which was still aching as though she had a migraine. "Jesus Marshall, this trip doesn't need to be ruined by theatrics and James and God knows what else…"

Marshall sighed, but chose not to argue with her. He just wondered how far in she would close herself before she finally snapped. He also noticed she was looking flushed – unwell, along with everything else.

"Do you feel okay?" he asked, and then hurried to clarify. "Physically-speaking, I mean."

"I guess," she eyed him suspiciously and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason, you just look…" he trailed away, not sure how to go on to avoid his concern sounding like an insult.

What? Mary wondered. She looked terrible, horrible, sickly, and strung-out? Shouldn't she? It was how she felt.

"I'm just tired," she supplied with a sigh. "But I feel fine."

Deciding to press his luck this time, Marshall reached out and put his palm to her forehead. She closed her eyes as his fingers lay across her flesh, skin tingling having him so close as he brushed her bangs aside. The feeling was brief – she stole away with it and then it was gone, but she wanted to hold it close and keep it deep within. She wanted him – all of him – and for always.

"You're warm," he observed, sounding unpleasantly disconcerted.

"It's just all the people," she decided at once. "And your mother's blasting the heat. It's nothing."

"It's stress," he stated immediately, shooting her excuses into the ground. "Slow down and quit fooling around or you're _going_ to get sick," he said, much more firmly than Mary was used to. "This was supposed to be a vacation, you know."

Mary felt badly she was making things so difficult for him, that she was unable to give Sam what he needed, that she couldn't make it work with his brothers on this go around.

"I wish I were different," she whispered ashamedly.

Marshall just shook his head and kissed her cheek.

"I don't."

**A/N: Hopefully this wasn't too forced, all the daddy talk. Review and I will love you LOL! (But frankly, I already do love you for what's already been done!)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews. I also have neglected to mention that I don't own In Plain Sight, which of course I do not. **

**Italics are dream…**

XXX

_Shadows pressed in on her from every side, making her feel like she was suffocating. She could barely breathe, hardly see; she squinted but this didn't help. It just made everything harder._

_Her wrists were bound and they hung high above her head, making her arms ache and burn. Chains rubbed the skin raw, scratching and cutting into her flesh. _

_But the worst part was the fear. How she knew or why, it was unclear, but she was certain something horrific was about to happen. Someone was coming for her and there was no way for her to protect herself. She could feel her glock slicing into her calf but was sure no matter how she reached or stretched, she wouldn't be able to grab it._

_The shadows lifted and turned to fog – a swirling white mass. And when it melted, she realized where she was._

_A basement – Spanky's basement. Her breathing turned fast and shallow as she tested the nail to see if she could pry herself loose, but it was screwed in tight. Even stranger; the holes she'd blasted in the door- the ones made in the ceiling and those that had shattered the mirror – were already present. _

_If she'd killed that lowlife already, why was she chained up again? Where was Chuck? His blood spattered the floor but he was nowhere to be found. _

_Footsteps made her heart race and the face that had haunted her for almost five years now emerged down the steps. Spanky, with his matted, wiry hair – his cold, cruel sneer. The enormous silver gun he held in his hand._

"_So Marshal…" he mocked with scorn. "He didn't make it."_

"_What?" she whispered in a hushed voice, her throat dry and scratchy from lack of use. "Who didn't make it?"_

"_Your old man," he teased with repulsive glee. "He tried to save your boy but we were able to sweeten the deal…"_

_A nasty smile played around his yellow teeth._

"_Seems twenty pounds of meth is worth more to him than your life – or your boy's."_

_Mary wasn't registering. What was going on? What was he talking about?_

"_My boy…?" she murmured in confusion._

"_Oh yeah," he continued. "What's his name…?" he pretended to think hard. "Cam?"_

"_Sam!" Mary burst, knowing his slip-up wasn't the concern at the moment but he had spiked her ire to the breaking point. "You prick. What the hell did you do with him?"_

"_If I were in your position I'd speak a little more kindly," Spanky advised, his gun glinting dangerously under the fluorescent lights. "Your pops decided to leave him be. He ain't coming to get you."_

_James wasn't coming. That was no surprise really. But for him to turn on her like this? She didn't understand._

_And Sam – where was he? What if he was hurt? _

_Marshall. Marshall must be on his way. He had to be._

"_Just bide your time fat ass," Mary snapped with as much contempt as she could muster. "I got all sorts of it."_

"_Oh yeah?" he took a step forward and her heart slammed like a bass drum against her ribcage._

"_Dream on Marshal," his breath smelled horrible. "The cavalry already showed up and we…hmm…" he faked consideration again. "How to put this?"_

_Mary wanted to hit him. She wanted to shove her gun in his balls. If only she could wrench herself free from the nail. She would find Sam. She and Marshall would find him. They would…_

"_We disposed of 'em," Spanky revealed._

_Not Marshall. Not him too._

"_Who?" she asked childishly._

_He bent down, his face an inch from hers. She was certain she was going to be sick._

"_Your boyfriend…"_

"_NO!" Mary screamed._

_And once she started, she couldn't stop._

"_No!" _

_She kicked but couldn't touch him. He laughed and laughed and resumed his place in front of her._

"_No! Marshall!" her voice echoed around the distant chamber. "Marshall!"_

_Spanky raised his weapon. She was staring down the barrel, down the long and empty tunnel. This was it. She was never going to see Marshall or Sam again._

_But she'd see James._

"_Daddy!"_

_The gun went off with a blast._

Mary woke with a start. Her eyes snapped open, the room dark and silent.

She was lying flat on her back in bed beside Marshall, her breathing fast and shallow, panting as though she'd just run a race.

She was in the guest room in Carolyn's house in Kansas. It was the middle of the night.

She'd been dreaming. None of it was real. Proven by the scared and worried voice to her right – a safe silhouette in the gloom.

"Hey…"

She wanted to turn around to face Marshall, but found she couldn't move. She was rigid, stiff as a board and still gasping for air like she couldn't possibly get enough oxygen. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she'd shouted out – if that was what had woken Marshall.

"Hey…" Marshall repeated and it was his hand in her own beneath the covers that recalled her to the real world.

As she turned slowly, her husband saw that her eyes were wide with alarm in the pitch black. She looked half out of her mind.

"What's the matter?" he whispered tenderly, helping her roll over onto her side. "You have a nightmare?"

Mary wanted to say no, wanted to go back to sleep, but she didn't really know how to say much of anything. She could guess from her demeanor that Marshall would see right through the lies anyway.

Marshall ran his hand over her hair, all matted around her face, pulling some of the knots out with his fingers.

"Babe, you're all sweaty…" he observed, sounding sad and upset on her behalf as he pulled her shirt away from her skin to give her some air.

Now that Marshall had mentioned it, Mary realized he was right. Her flesh was clammy and she suddenly remembered his concern over her being sick earlier and wondered if he'd been right about that too.

"What happened?" he said softly, brushing over her condition for the time being. "Try to tell me."

It was only coming back in bits and pieces now, but Mary swallowed and managed two words.

"The basement."

Marshall understood at once, though it clearly troubled him. It troubled Mary too, now that she stopped to think about it. It was disturbing to think that those nightmares could come back in new and even more frightening forms. She hadn't been plagued by them for a year or two now. Leave it to James' death to bring them on again.

"Unresolved issues at their best," Marshall dictated even in his undertone. "What happened?" he repeated.

Once unable to speak, Mary suddenly felt the need to get it all out of her chest or she feared she might burst.

"I was chained up and they'd killed you and abducted Sam. And daddy was supposed to come back for me but he…" she swallowed to take a breath. "He went with them instead."

She saw Marshall's brow furrowed even in the dark, unsettled by the tale. Mary, in her slumberous stupor, had accidentally called James 'daddy' in front of him, still caught in the throes of the dream and she was suddenly embarrassed.

"Well…" Marshall said quietly, rubbing her hair affectionately. "It was nothing. I'm here; Sam's here."

But James wasn't. He was dead. He couldn't come back any more now than he could thirty years ago.

Marshall allowed his hand to slip briefly from her hair and onto her cheek, where he felt wetness dampening her soft skin. The shadow was so thick around them, he hadn't noticed.

"Mare, you're crying…" he murmured, tone laced with sympathy and more compassion than Mary knew she deserved. "It was just a dream…"

Mary honestly hadn't known she'd shed tears. It must've happened while she was still asleep.

"I know," she assured him, trying to sound a little more level-headed. "I just got…caught up in it…"

"It's okay," he promised. "We can stay up for awhile. Talk."

What was it about him and talking? It was an obsession, Mary decided, and he wasn't likely to quit any time soon.

"I think I just…" she responded uncertainly. "Maybe need some water. I'll go downstairs and get a glass."

"I can go," Marshall offered. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she said as she carefully got out of bed, mindful of not tripping in the dark. "I won't be long."

Marshall clearly wanted to go with her; Mary could see his anchored form even though it was practically pitch black. He lay on his elbow, his head turned in her direction. She paused at the door, hand on the knob, and wondered if she could allow him to come along.

But she'd already woken him up – like some delirious child – and didn't feel like putting him through anymore. Instead, she decided to placate him.

"Thank-you for being here," she whispered, and it was then she registered that there were still tears in her eyes. The roughness in her throat came from the same sensation and trying to keep it in made her feel heavy.

"What are partners for?" Marshall mused as he yawned and settled himself back into the pillows. "Hurry back."

Mary nodded even though she knew he couldn't possibly see her and headed out into the hall.

She ascertained immediately that she was unsteady on her feet, legs like jelly and she wondered if maybe she'd been thrashing around in the bed before she'd come to. She hadn't noticed if she sheets were tangled but then again, she hadn't been noticing much of anything.

She carefully made her way down the stairs, praying she didn't stumble over anything unsuspecting and wake Carolyn and Sam. The hardwood of the entryway was cool on her feet, as was the linoleum once she made it to the kitchen.

Snapping on one of the low lights beside the outer counter, she was surprised to find she wasn't alone.

"Carolyn," she breathed, seeing her mother-in-law stationed at the kitchen table across the room, munching cookies and sipping from a mug of something steaming.

"Honey," she sounded even more shocked than Mary, if that was possible. "What are you doing up?"

Deciding not to pry, Mary made her way around the counter to the sink. She went to the cupboard for a glass as she answered.

"Just…thirsty," she said, hoping this would be sufficient.

"That is not a thirsty look on your face," Carolyn said smoothly with another dreg from her mug.

Mary tried to laugh and not show how disappointed she was that she'd let her emotions dance in plain sight all over her face. She ran the water for her drink and took a swallow, staying where she was.

"I can…" she began stupidly. "I mean I don't have to…"

Suddenly, she found herself wondering what Carolyn was doing – why she was awake at 3:30 in the morning as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Couldn't she sleep either?

"I'm sorry if I was…" Mary shrugged, trying to wrap up all this fumbling around. "Interrupting."

"Does it look like I'm busy?" Carolyn chortled softly and took another bite of her cookie.

Mary smiled and made her way over to the table, the glass sweating against her fingers. She paused standing above her mother-in-law, wondering if she should just leave her in peace to do whatever she was doing.

"Sit down honey," she offered the chair with a wave of her hand, clearly unable to call her anything other than the affectionate moniker. Mary realized she'd already gotten used to it. "Have a cookie. They're snickerdoodle."

Mary's favorite. She pulled out the seat across from Carolyn and took one from the plate in front of her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes – Mary chewing, the older woman shifting her mug back and forth between her palms, looking inquisitive and lost-in-thought. Mary wondered if she should say something, if she should try to be of help in some way. Something told her that, although this might be a regular occurrence, it wasn't anything Carolyn enjoyed.

"Not sleeping well?" she blurted out abruptly, wondering why she had gone such a direct route.

Carolyn shrugged, but there was still a tiny grin on her face as she averted her eyes to the tabletop, seeing pictures that Mary couldn't.

"I don't know…" she muttered, more to herself than to Mary. "Since Seth passed away…"

Mary's heart, already so close to cracking into pieces these days, tottered on its string.

"There are just some nights I…"

She hesitated, but then shook her head and looked up into Mary's face. She was hanging on expectantly, wanting to hear more.

"I wake up and I still expect him to be there beside me," she revealed. "And sometimes I just need a little more time to…adjust."

Mary was puzzled as to why someone would let themselves be so exposed – so raw – but some strange part of her found it enlightening. Carolyn and Marshall, they were just alike.

"So I eat the cookies," she shrugged. "Drink the tea and…try to remember the better times. It helps me doze off again."

Mary nodded, wondering what she could possibly say to rival such an admission. Her nightmare seemed silly and stupid now, as did her juvenile yearning for James when he had never done anything to deserve such devotion.

Unfortunately, Mary was so busy thinking about this that she didn't get a chance to comfort Carolyn. She went right on talking.

"Mary, I feel just terrible about your father," she said, to which Mary was stunned. Even more so when Carolyn placed her hand on top of hers on the table.

"So many things left unsaid…undone. The absence of closure," she shook her head, looking bewildered. "It's no wonder you can't sleep."

For the second time, Mary didn't know how to respond. All she could think about was how understanding she was being, and how Marshall was her mirror image. She felt even worse for the way she'd behaved that morning, for blaming Marshall when he was only trying to help.

"Carolyn…" she began, taking her turn at dropping her gaze. "Did…you and Seth ever fight?"

"Please," she scoffed, like the question was perfectly normal. "All the time."

"Really?" Mary was surprised, but she didn't know why. Knowing Carolyn and gathering what she had about Seth in their short time together, she found them polar opposites.

"About a whole slew of things," Carolyn continued, sipping the last of her tea. Then, clearly wondering what had prompted this query, "Do you and Marshall argue?"

Mary wasn't sure what the truth was on this one. She brawled with Marshall, but he didn't exactly brawl with her. How was that possible?

"No," she found herself saying. "I mean…Marshall tries so hard to 'get me' or to be at my beck-and-call; he never fights with me."

More guilt was starting to engulf her and she decided to keep speaking to squash it.

"But…I can be really awful to him," she whispered, taking a sip from her glass of water for something to do. "I'm at my worst when he's at his best."

Carolyn considered the statement, looking inquisitive. Mary wasn't sure why she was opening up like this, why she was trying to make herself seem lesser in front of Marshall's mother. Some part of her didn't feel she deserved this family and for some reason, she needed to let it be known.

"Marshall's very sweet," she finally said. "Very sensitive – always has been. I can tell you right now, it drove his father up the wall."

Mary smirked, having learned as much the one time she'd met Seth.

"I do concede, however, that his overpowering desire to help can sometimes cloud his judgment," she stated, businesslike. "Some people need time to work out things on their own and he struggles with that."

Mary wondered what it must be like to have your biggest problem be that you were just _too_ kind.

"Just the same," Carolyn continued before Mary could say anything. "He's gonna work extra hard when he knows the object of his…prey, if you will…" she smiled at her own analogy. "Is steadfastly unwilling to show that they're hurting and could use a shoulder to cry on."

She raised her eyebrows significantly at Mary over the rim of her mug and there was no mistaking to whom she was referring. Her daughter-in-law was hard-pressed not to feel grateful she was so astute. Just like her son.

Mary, deciding she was already in too deep to back out now, decided to counter.

"It's just…really hard for me," she whispered, feeling herself choke up again. She hoped she wouldn't start crying.

"He's so good to me and I'm just…" she rolled her eyes in her haste not to shed tears trying to find the right word.

But she felt the pat on her hand that meant someone here understood just what she was thinking.

"Mary," Carolyn murmured. "You are _just_ who he loves," she finished the thought.

Was that enough? Was anything?

"It's not for nothing," Carolyn assured her. "No _just_ about it."

**A/N: That's a wrap for that one. Thanks again for the feedback; I'm very grateful.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for hanging in with me. This was a tougher tale to put together because I don't feel like it has a climax. I suppose it sort of does, later on, but it's harder when you're not necessarily building to something. I do my best!**

XXX

The next afternoon, the nieces and nephews were back and Mary decided to channel in more of an effort this time, however hard it might be. She snatched Sam from the twins and sat down with Daniel and Quinn in the living room to play – she shuddered at the thought – video games.

She was horrendously awful, which the boys found hilarious. Brandi and Peter had a Wii but Mary had claimed the console was childish and stupid, so she'd never engaged in the activity. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, Sam in her lap, she thought she might be doing a little better if she didn't let her son 'help' so much.

"Oh-ho!" Daniel guffawed when Mary steered her car into the lake for about the tenth time. "Epic fail!"

"Toad is gonna be drowned!" Quinn chimed in, giggling hysterically.

"Who's Toad?" Mary asked as she tried to get driving again, Sam swatting the controller and jamming his fingers onto various buttons.

"Your guy," Daniel reported. "The one with the mushroom hat."

What the hell kind of game was this anyway?

"Come on Sam; we've gotta catch up…" Mary told him. "Say 'vroom-vroom," she instructed. "'Vroom-vroom.'"

"Vroom!" he squealed, and then shrieked excitedly when Mary managed to get her car chugging along the road again.

He was enraptured with all the bright colors and funny noises. He giggled every time Daniel's man – some cutesy green dinosaur with red shoes – dropped a banana out the back of his motorbike and one of the computerized characters started spinning out on his tires.

"Oh, Jesus!" Mary exploded seeing snow ahead on the track. "Ice! Man alive, like I don't have enough trouble!"

"Such a lady," Marshall had appeared on the scene and was rumpling his wife's hair as she played. She didn't spare him a moment to look up, too concentrated on not dive-bombing off the road again.

The boys just laughed at Mary's slip of the tongue. She guessed that Daniel, at least, was used to the cursing having Julian as a dad.

"Daniel!" Quinn whined when his man got struck by a bolt of lightning. "Now I'm tiny; I can't go as fast!"

"That's the point, dingus," his cousin informed him with a surprisingly bold streak of superiority. "You smacked me with the turtle shell like two seconds ago."

Listening to them argue, Mary wondered if maybe she could use it to her advantage and set about maneuvering the controller this way and that through a grove of pine trees coated with snow.

"Go-go!" Sam chanted excitedly.

"I'm going Smush, I'm going!" Mary said.

Marshall laughed and pointed his finger at the screen while his nephews continued to quarrel.

"You'll wanna watch out," he said, drawing lines with his nail as though illustrating a diagram. "Up ahead there's a…"

But he didn't get to finish because Mary motored right on to the thin patch of ice and her shroom-coated fellow sank right through the circle.

"Ha-ha!" Quinn taunted while Mary took the time to scowl up at her husband for not warning her sooner.

"Nice backseat driving, doofus," she accused with a glare. "Remind me never to toil the busy highway with you."

"She called you a doofus!" Daniel shouted out, having heard every word.

"It's what he is," Mary informed them smartly and the boys cracked up again.

Leaning forward, her chin resting on Sam's head, she wondered if she could figure out how to use one of those little item boxes she kept driving into to blast one of the boys off their go-carts. It had been a long time since she'd been forced to channel her competitive spirit and it fit like a glove. When they were younger, Brandi had never been much for games where one won and the other lost, and so she'd always had to challenge her dad as a kid. Those were simpler sports – cards, block towers, a round of Monopoly here and there.

He'd always let her win.

"Last lap!" Marshall announced as Mary's vehicle sped through the black and white checkered flag marking the finish line. "If you hurry, you might catch up to these little motorists."

"You might have to help mama out, Sam," the dad added as an afterthought.

"Very funny," Mary groused.

Marshall leaned down; crouching beside the pair of them and Mary turned briefly to see what he was doing, and then hastily flicked her eyes back to the road.

"You've got a missile bomb," he murmured in her ear, his breathing tickling against her skin. "Hit this button," he tapped the correct one on her remote control.

"And you think I need your half-assed tips?" she played him, tilting the device out of Sam's paws.

"You suck," was his bald retort, and Mary couldn't help noticing how adorable he was when he tried to keep a straight face insulting her. "It's your only chance, gimpy. Better swallow your pride and blow them up."

Mary tried to keep her features impassive, show him she wasn't going to give in as she locked in on the screen. But Marshall never let it go. He took Sam's hand, guided his fingers and Mary heard him whisper, but pretended not to.

"Press Sam…" he murmured. "Press right there…"

Their son was more than happy to smash his fingers wherever they told him and Mary smirked as something resembling a bomb with a body and two eyes shot off like a rocket from her car and zoomed straight for Daniel and Quinn.

"NO WAY!" Daniel shouted as his wimpy dinosaur spun in midair from the force. "Man, you stocked up! How long have you been holding on to that?"

Mary was endeared to the fact that they thought she'd planned it and caught Marshall smiling out the corner of her eye.

"Get up, get up, get up!" Quinn urged the fat lard he was playing as – some frightfully ugly growler in purple overalls with a spiky mustache.

"I told you not to be Wario!" Daniel reminded him spitefully as his dino buddy zoomed off again. "He's so fat they have to grease the tunnel entrances just to get him through!"

It was Mary's turn to laugh this time at Daniel's fabrication of a 'your mama' joke. Sam giggled beneath her, and she didn't even know why. It must be nice to be able to laugh for no reason at all.

"Nice going Toad," Marshall said as Mary made her way in third place, behind Daniel in first but ahead of Quinn in fourth.

"Awesome, Mary," Daniel congratulated her appreciatively as he set his controller on the floor. "But I still think Sam was cheating for you," he teased.

"Oh yeah?" she mocked him right back, game face on. "I'm not the only one who's got a secret weapon."

"Oh, and what's my secret weapon?" Daniel rolled his eyes in exasperation. "That I've got mad skills and you don't?"

Mary suddenly felt strangely fond toward this little boy who knew how to hold his own and roll with the punches. She'd thought that the first time she'd met him and they'd played kickball together. He wasn't about to let some lady he hardly knew give him what for, and she'd admired him for that.

"I better get out of here before the fur starts flying," Marshall played along.

He stood up just as Mary's cell phone started buzzing on the coffee table. Untangling her legs so Sam could crawl out – where he headed straight for her abandoned remote – she kneeled and looked to see what was happening on the other end.

"Who is it?" Marshall asked.

"Brandi," she reported.

Mary was feeling oddly light this afternoon and hadn't heard from her sister yet today, so decided to answer and be agreeable to boot.

"Hey Squish," she greeted her as she stood up all the way, stretching out the kinks in her back.

"Who's Squish?" she heard Quinn say below her. "She knows someone named Squish?"

"Maybe it's a jellyfish," Daniel decided and the pair of them laughed all over again. "Uncle Marshall, will you play with us?" the older boy went on. "Since Mary's talking."

"Yeah, sure; I'll step in a few rounds," he agreed, taking a seat on the floor, leaving Mary to conversation.

So busy listening to all this, Mary realized she hadn't been paying any attention to Brandi. Venturing out to the front hall, for Carolyn and the girls were making cookies in the kitchen, she wondered how much she'd missed.

"Squish?" she repeated. "Sorry – you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," her voice floated through, dismal and dejected and Mary's heart began to pick up speed just slightly.

"You okay?" she prodded. "You sound funny."

Brandi sighed and Mary waited, wondering if she could possibly take any more bad news.

"I'm fine," she finally said. "Just lonely."

"What?" Mary asked, perplexed. "What do you mean you're lonely? Where are mom and Peter?"

"Peter's at work. He's trying to close that Santa Fe deal in the next few days," she said. "He wouldn't let me go in because I had a sonogram this morning and they said the reason I got dizzy the other day was because the baby is shifting to head-down…"

"Okay, thanks," Mary interrupted, trying not to show how ill this picture made her. "Don't need details."

"So I'm at the house by myself. Mom was here earlier but she had a class to teach," she explained. "You know she's getting ready to take the students to that competition in Roswell day after tomorrow?"

Mary didn't know, but that was one less thing she'd have to ask about.

"Well…so…" the older sister rubbed her temple, trying to get a handle on what was actually happening here. "So…you're on bed rest now until the baby comes? Is that it?"

"No, not really," Brandi disagreed. "Not officially. But I've felt awful since the baby started moving around; I get out-of-breath so easy…"

"Been there, Squish," Mary recalled those later days of her pregnancy with Sam and they hadn't been fun. She'd had to pee about every twenty minutes when Sam had shifted and started pressing on her bladder.

"Mary…" Brandi said softly and Mary could hear her choking up, knew she was about to cry. She'd always worn her heart on her sleeve and being with child had made her even more prone to emotional outbursts – a classic stereotype.

"I wish you were here," she murmured thickly. "I'm not asking you to come back," she clarified. "Just…you know about this stuff and I don't know anything and with dad and everything…"

Her words were tumbling over each other now, not making much sense, the coherence lost somewhere on its way out.

"I don't know," she finished lamely. "I just miss you. Mom's driving me crazy."

Mary tried not to laugh at Jinx's helicopter status as far as hovering was concerned when one of her girls wasn't feeling up to par. On the other hand, she was unexpectedly touched that Brandi missed her and she _did_ know how hard that last month could be.

"It won't be too much longer," she offered. "Stick it out a few more weeks and you'll be fine."

"I thought you'd say something like that," she didn't sound satisfied.

"Well, look at the bright side," Mary went on. "You're at thirty-six. The little him or her could really come any time. Maybe you won't stretch all the way to forty," she added with a bitter but hopeful laugh.

"Thanks, that helps," Brandi said snidely, her tears quickly turning to annoyance.

"Look Squish," Mary started over in hopes that they could wrap this up. "It's tough. I know it is. It's a bitch but you've just gotta suck it up and power through. I'll be home in a few days."

Then, deciding that a white lie couldn't hurt, "I miss you too."

Like a switch, Brandi flipped right over again.

"You do?" Mary could hear the tears being shed even over the phone.

"Sure," she said sweetly. "You rest up and feel better, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, sniffling and getting a grip. "Love you."

Mary hesitated but then said, "Me too Squish."

Hitting the off button soundly, Mary stared at the phone for a moment, suddenly wishing she were with Brandi. The dominating thoughts of James had her craving she could share him with someone who had known him, and with Brandi so sad…

But, she reminded herself, it wouldn't have been the same. Brandi _hadn't_ known their father, not really, and it would just be Mary telling her own story after story.

Venturing back into the living room, she saw that Marshall was just finishing up another match with the boys.

"Hey," he stood up, stretching his arms behind his back. "What's up?"

Mary teetered on the edge of what to reveal. She'd been fine a couple minutes ago and, abruptly, Brandi's condition suddenly made her worrisome and concerned. Maybe she should call Peter and tell him to keep a closer watch on her.

"What?" Marshall prompted, seeing the unsure look on her face.

"Oh…" she shrugged. "Nothing, just…" another shrug and shake of her head. "Brandi's not feeling well. I guess she had a sonogram this morning and…"

"Baby's dropping," Marshall nodded intelligently.

How had Mary forgotten he knew more about pregnancy than she did?

"Something like that," Mary supplied. "She's not actually on bed rest but Peter's got her quarantined," she explained. "She's just…lonely, I guess."

Marshall nodded knowingly and put his arm around her, obviously sensing she was nervous, maybe even a little upset. Kissing her temple, he rubbed her opposite shoulder as he spoke.

"You're a good sister," he said kindly. "She'll be all right until we get back."

Mary nodded, wondering if she could stand to lose someone else – or even suffer another shock in such a short space of time.

"I hope so," she whispered.

A delighted shout sounded below them and Mary turned to see that Claire had joined the boys and was aiding Sam in his helter-skelter course along a lava-filled track.

"Sam, you got the star!" she proclaimed with glee. "You got the star!"

Mary smiled even though, technically speaking, it was Claire who had gotten the prize. Watching the four of them, she felt warmth spread from her chest to her stomach as the boys put aside their desire to win and come out on top.

"Yeah Sam!" Quinn cheered.

"Way to go Sam!" Daniel chimed in just as he passed his cousin through a ring of fire.

The littlest just giggled excitedly at all the attention and reached up to pat Claire on the arm, still with that goofy grin.

"Star," he repeated with a gurgle.

"That's right Sam," the five-year-old nodded confidently. "You're a _star_."

**A/N: A little lighter on this front! I wanted to get the nephews in! Of my created characters, Daniel and Quinn are some of my favorites. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Still with me out there? I hope so!**

XXX

Sunday dinner that night was a chaotic affair. The kids had the next day off from school for teacher meetings and were all hopped up over the idea that they could stay up late and bunk at grandma's, despite the fact that their mothers told them they'd be going to bed at the regular time. Mary and Marshall sat at the end of the table on either side of Sam in his high chair. He was banging his spoon proudly on his tray, face smeared with applesauce.

Mary was feeling quiet and observant, tired from her night of bad dreams and opted just to clean up after Sam and let the others do the talking. Marshall obviously sensed this was her route to go, because he just let her be.

The oddest phrases caught her ear, words that seemed magnified by a hundred when she knew they couldn't be.

"Daddy will you read me another chapter of that one story tonight?" Sophie asked Griffin. "The one about the annoying, _dumb_ little brother?" she shot Quinn a scowl but he was paying no attention.

"Yeah sure," Griffin agreed. "But not for too long, okay?"

"But dad, I like the other one!" Sarah chimed in when she heard this. "About Ramona and her big sister."

"We'll read a chapter of both," he decided, taking a sip of wine.

Meanwhile, Claire was attempting to dish herself peas without much success. They rolled off her plate and into her lap several times before Julian noticed and chuckled. Leaning over in his seat, he dug a spoon through the bowl and gave her some more.

"Sweet peas for my sweet pea…" he crooned and Claire giggled as he stuck his fingers in her side, tickling her.

Little girls and their daddies.

Mary took her own sip of wine – more than a sip, frankly – she practically downed the whole glass in one gulp. It made her sputter slightly and Marshall turned from across the table when she started coughing.

"Hairball?" he joked as he pulled mashed green beans off Sam's shirt.

"Something like that," she managed hoarsely and without much effort to tease him back.

Marshall picked up on this and raised his eyebrows.

"Everything okay?"

She nodded, draining the rest of her glass, intent on shutting him up before someone wondered what was going on. Griffin was sitting to her right, Julian to Marshall's with the kids in the middle and the wives like bookends, Carolyn at the head as Sam was. Someone was bound to overhear something and that wasn't what she wanted this to be about.

Unfortunately, it appeared it didn't matter what they said because another already had something in mind.

"Ding-ding-ding, everybody!" Carolyn called, and Mary noticed she was clinking the side of her wine glass with her butter knife. "Toast coming on here!"

Griffin and Julian chuckled and picked up their glasses. The table fell silent; even the kids stopped chattering.

"Mom, it's not a holiday," Julian reminded her before she could say anything. "Not exactly a toast-worthy situation."

"I respectfully disagree," she inclined her head at her youngest. "We're all together; we're having dinner, all thirteen of us. I say that's cause for celebration."

"Let's hope nobody here suffers from triskaidekaphobia," Marshall interjected, toasting hand poised at the ready.

"Triska-_what_?" Claire burst from her spot between the twins, sticking her neck way out to see her uncle. "Is that a kind of dinosaur?"

Griffin and Julian were the first to laugh, but Marshall only went partially red at his fount of useless information.

"It means you're afraid of the number thirteen," he explained. "Who knows what kind of luck we'll have at this table."

"Marshall, don't be a cynic," Carolyn chided him. "We could also be a Baker's Dozen," she offered. "Nothing scary about that."

"My arm's getting tired!" Quinn shouted out when the adults milled around this conversation for a minute, discussing what was to fear of thirteen and why.

Mary was about to say she seconded Quinn's motion, but kept silent, making sure Sam didn't tip the remainder of his beans onto the floor.

"Well…" Carolyn cleared her throat. "All I wanted to say was…"

She shrugged, tipping her head down slightly, shaking it as she pondered her next words.

"Well…it's been a long year," she decided on. "Year and a half really. When we lost your father…"

Although her mother-in-law didn't pause, Mary felt her heart hitch in its beat. Her hand trembled against the glass. She was determined not to let it shatter or become conspicuous.

"…I lost me too for a little while," Carolyn went on. "But…" her voice inched up an octave, positive spirit sneaking its way through.

To Mary's astonishment, she inclined her head straight at her and Sam sitting all the way at the other end of the table.

"The Mann's just continue to grow. We wouldn't be who we are without Mary and Sam."

"Hear-hear!" Daniel chimed in, and the adults chortled politely.

Marshall, perhaps aware that Mary would be embarrassed, placed his hand gently on top of hers. He knew he was right when she turned her palm over, pulling his fingers to either side of hers so they clutched like a rope to safety.

Mary considered her words carefully, wanting to appear nonchalant even though she wasn't. She couldn't replace Seth and Sam couldn't either, no matter what Carolyn said.

"Thanks," was all she could get out, and softly at that. Sometimes simplest was best.

"Mary I hope you know…" Carolyn continued, lowering her glass slightly. "You always have a home here. Especially now, with everything that's happened…"

Marshall flashed his mother a look, warning her not to go on, knowing Mary wouldn't appreciate the sentiment for what it was if her secret got out, but he was too late.

"What?" Griffin asked, turning from Carolyn to Mary and back again. It wasn't exactly difficult for his eyes to bore right into hers since they were sitting side-by-side.

"What's…going on?" he pressed. "Something happened?"

Although the last thing in the world Mary wanted to do was discuss her deadbeat father with Marshall's family, she couldn't help wanting to smooth things over for Carolyn. She looked stricken and Mary knew at once she hadn't realized it was meant to be kept under wraps.

"Oh honey…" she sighed and put her glass down completely, hand over her eyes in guilt. "I'm so sorry…I thought…"

She didn't go on, just shook her head. The kids were looking confused and Mary felt more awkward than ever. Marshall squeezed her hand, but it didn't do much for her mood. She wanted to run away from all this. They didn't deserve her sob stories and her melodrama concerning James. Nobody deserved that.

"What's the deal?" Julian picked up the thread from Griffin as Marshall leaned back in his seat, hand slipping from Mary's.

Mary saw her husband about to open his mouth to answer, but she beat him to the punch.

"It's fine," she mouthed across the table, barely a whisper.

It wasn't fine, but there was nothing she could do at this point.

"It's nothing," Mary finally spoke to the group at large, hoping beyond all reason she could not choke up or reveal in any way how upset she truly was about James biting the dust.

"I…I…"

Who knew if she would even be able to speak at all?

"I recently found out that my dad passed away," she reported as evenly as she was able. "But it's…its fine. We don't need to discuss it."

Meaning that she didn't want to. She gulped some more wine to avoid looking at all their thunderstruck faces, least of all Marshall who just looked miserable, inside and out.

"Geez grouchy…" Griffin breathed, almost in sympathy.

"Griffin," Marshall said sharply, slicing the would-be-affectionate nickname in two. "Cut it out. Now."

"Marshall, don't," Mary shook her head, not wanting him to feel he had to come to her defense. It was just a teasing moniker; nothing to get so worked up over.

"Why didn't you say something?" Julian spoke over his brother, who was gaping like a hooked fish at being scolded by the oldest. "We would've…I mean…"

"Look, it's not how it sounds," she interrupted, trying not to look at Carolyn's remorseful-ridden features at the other end of the table, tried not to blame her for letting it slip, for creating this moment. It wasn't her fault.

"Now is not the time talk about this," Marshall cut in, trying to save Mary from herself but now that she'd started, she might as well get on with it.

"My dad left home just before I turned seven," she rattled off without even meaning to. "I haven't seen him since then. He was an FBI fugitive with a serious gambling addiction and he overturned his car next to a riverbed at the Oregon border a couple months back and I just got word two days ago."

She said it all in one breath, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible. She thought revealing it might make her feel better, like the weight might be lifted, but it had the exact opposite effect. She was breathing, long and low to try and stay in control of her emotions but saying it all aloud had made it seem so real. She was going to crack under this strain any minute.

She certainly didn't expect to see Marshall's family, their faces so drawn in sympathy and concern. She knew if she didn't get away, and soon, she was going to start bawling and that would be a thousand times worse than this.

"I…please don't…" her voice was little and lost now, not at all like herself. "Really…you all…"

She cast Marshall an anguished look, all of a sudden wishing he would come to her rescue even though five seconds before she had wanted just the opposite. She was so mixed-up. What to think, what to do – none of it made sense.

She saw that he was about to ward them off when Mary's phone rang. She cursed herself for not turning it off or putting it on silent or vibrate or _something_ so it wouldn't interrupt during dinner. Still, she couldn't think of a more opportune moment – saved by the bell.

Hastily and with a sigh, she maneuvered it out of her pocket. The screen told her it was Stan, which meant it might actually be important.

"Stan," she murmured at Marshall, who nodded his approval.

"Do…" Mary turned to the group, a distant buzzing in her ears. "Do you…mind?"

"No," they all said, practically at once. "No, go ahead…" another nearly-simultaneous answer.

"Okay," she bobbed her head and stood up.

It was their eyes that were doing her in. Carolyn, wracked with guilt and feeling culpable. Julian – stunned. Griffin – strangely bewildered as though he'd been left out of the game of tag. Connie and Kim, whispering softly to the children who were whispering right back, casting Mary furtive glances.

"Just a second…" Mary finished lamely, but that wasn't what any of them wanted to hear.

When she escaped to the front hall, she finally heard Sam join in the confusion. He whined and squirmed in his seat, wanting to get up, but Marshall entertained him, one eye on his son, one on Mary.

Mary stopped at the stairs, just as she'd done the day before, and sat down on the bottom step, knowing her legs wouldn't hold her. She wondered what else she couldn't hold.

"Hello?" she said in a voice thick with unshed, cottony tears.

"Good evening inspector," Stan sang cheerily from his end. "Hope I'm finding you well."

"What's up?" she asked, neglecting to answer the question he hadn't posed. "You need something?"

"No, just wanted to see how you guys were doing," he said. "Having a good time?"

Briefly, Mary was thrown that he would call just to chat but her out-of-control emotions suddenly had her thinking it was sweet. Stan cared. He always had.

Reflecting on his inquiry, however, Mary didn't know what to say.

"Sure," she responded, wholly unconvincingly. She just didn't have the energy.

A silence followed and Mary shut her eyes, attempting to block out all the hushed discussion in the next room, trying to prepare for what Stan was going to say next.

"What's wrong kiddo?" he asked in a low voice, and she could tell from his tone he already knew the answer.

Mary really – really and truly – wanted to fake it. She wanted to say everything was all right, but it wasn't. It really wasn't.

"Everything," she managed in a constricted voice and her hand immediately went over her eyes, determined to hide what she knew was coming even though she was alone.

"Oh…" Stan breathed; a sympathetic ear. "I'm sure that's not true."

"No," she agreed, the wetness fresh under her fingers now. "But I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to…"

She couldn't finish, she was trying too hard to keep it together before Marshall or someone else saw her, but Stan understood.

"It just takes time," Stan assured her. "You'll come out the other side soon."

Mary hoped so – she really hoped so.

"It'll be all right," he went on. "You just hang in there, sweetheart."

Who knew one word could prompt so much? The tears leaked through her fingers then, running in odd paths, like some celestial road map of scattered stars on her face.

There was only one thing, one instance she ever thought of when someone called her 'sweetheart' and it was James' letter he'd written the day he'd left.

_Mary, sweetheart. I must leave quickly, so this has to be short…_

And it had been. It really, really had been.

**A/N: Too forced? Let's hope not! Mary's coming undone…what to do, what to do LOL! Review if you've got a second; thank-you in advance!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay. Let's hope this is worth it…**

XXX

Marshall wasn't sure how he got to sleep that night. Mary had managed to stay composed through the rest of dinner, but after they went upstairs he could actually feel her lying awake next to him – staring at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but at Marshall. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, how much he ached from her unhappiness, but he knew she was done for the night. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

He stirred at around four o'clock in the morning, according to his cell phone. He didn't sleep on the side of the bed with the digital clock, so he groped for the little screen, which flashed 4:07 AM. He knew at once that the space beside him was empty. Mary wasn't there.

Even in his drowsy daze, he tried to rationalize where she might have gone – Sam might be up, maybe she had to pee, perhaps she just needed a drink. And yet something told him it was none of those things.

And something else told him he could not play this game anymore.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed he pattered through the shadows, his racecar PJ pants swishing softly as he stumbled up the hall. It clear from the dankness under Sam's door that he was not awake.

It was pitch dark downstairs, the house still and quiet. Marshall's socks glided smoothly across the hardwood and he felt his way corner-to-corner with one hand on the counter, trying not to jam his legs into the barstools. It was only until he was all the way on the other side that he realized what had become of his bride.

Mary was sitting outside on the deck in her own pajamas – typical drawstring striped pants and a long-sleeved thermal with buttons. She was leaning on the post to the right, knees bent over the stairs. She shifted every now and then – gazing across into the yard, then down into her lap.

Marshall just watched her for a moment as he leaned on the counter – sad and lonely, all by herself; the way she claimed she liked it. But who could enjoy that? Who could work so hard at being tough better than Mary? It made his heart pang with admiration and pity all at the same time.

He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen her. She was doing enough pretending for the both of them. Quietly, he made his way to the sliding glass door and slipped it open. He saw her flinch slightly at the sound of the hatch, but she didn't turn around.

The wood from the planks was rough on Marshall's feet, even in his socks. Trying to be casual as possible, he settled himself down beside her. She scarcely moved, just shifted whatever was in her hand underneath her palm so he couldn't see it.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Marshall twiddling his thumbs absently, eyeing the few stars sparkling dimly above their heads in the blanket of vast and velvety navy. A few clouds scuttled across, hiding the waning crescent moon – in and out, in and out of view.

"Aren't you cold?" Marshall finally said.

It was April, and not exactly spring-like yet. A chill breeze was ruffling through the damp grass, goose bumps rising on his bare arms. Mary just shrugged, transferring her hands into one another, pressing them between her knees. Whatever she'd been looking at lay abandoned in her middle.

"I don't really feel it," she responded. "What does _that_ say?"

"Mmm…" Marshall took his turn at shrugging.

That she was numb, that she had more important things to think about than the weather? Somehow, he didn't imagine this was the answer she was thinking of.

He went another direction instead.

"What have you got there?"

He'd spent far too much time _not_ pressing his luck the past few days. It was time to throw caution to the winds, ride on with reckless abandon and not stop until he helped her find her way back.

Even with his newfound daring attitude, Marshall still expected Mary to withhold her artifacts. But she just passed them into Marshall's hand without so much as a glance – she just looked blank, lost, and frozen somewhere he couldn't reach her to pull her in.

The first piece of paper was a picture, one Marshall recognized at once. It was the same one he'd chosen to put in their photo album for him and Mary's first Christmas together. Little four-year-old Shannon, held aloft in James' arms, head resting on his chest, a sweet and innocent smile on her face. Her dad's hand on her beautiful golden hair – fondness etched in every line. Marshall studied it briefly before tucking it behind the other slip and it appeared this one was new, to him at least.

It was a letter, and the date at the top had Marshall realizing almost at once why it was so significant, why Mary was toiling over it like this.

February 5th, 1978 – two days before Mary's seventh birthday.

His wife was quiet as he read the words and he had to force himself not to cry, not to shed tears on her behalf. What must she have thought when she'd received this? How many times had she pored over it in the years since, trying to make sense of the words, to gain some significance from why her father had abandoned her for nothing at all? For a life of crime and gambling it all to hell? Betting Jinx and his daughters away?

_Kind – sweet – warm – funny._

He'd had it right, Marshall decided. So how could he have left something that wonderful behind?

"Mary…" he finally whispered, folding it back into its well-worn crease. "I'm…you've…never showed me this," he murmured. "Have you had it all this time?"

It was a dumb question – an obvious answer – but Mary only nodded.

Marshall wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to make light of it, as it obviously meant so much to her.

"It's…special," he told her, fingering the parchment with his nail. "I'm glad you have it."

"Makes one of us," Mary muttered, folding her elbows onto her knees, which she leaned on as though in exhaustion.

Marshall watched her hair tumble over her legs in a long sheet, saw her eyes cast at the ground, heard the wind whistling in the bushes.

"Thanks for sharing it with me," he said, pulling the curtain of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. He wanted her to know he appreciated even the smallest opening she provided.

"It's nothing," she said. "Not important. Stupid."

Ordinarily, Marshall would've only thought what came next, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut anymore.

"Mare, why are you doing this?" he whispered, allowing his hand to slip from her head to her shoulder. "Why are you so determined to keep it all inside?"

He expected her to snap back at him with some retort, to run away, to leave him alone and go back to bed. But she didn't do anything. She wasn't looking at him – her eyes were focused somewhere below, tired and weary. She looked miserable.

Marshall decided it was up to him to help her break open.

"You know…I'm not your geeky partner anymore," he leaned in, trying to catch her eye, shifting his hand to her leg. "Or not _just_ your geeky partner," he tried to joke. "You know, the one you wouldn't let in even an inch because you were afraid he'd leave you behind. The way somebody else did."

Again, she surprised him. She just sat there quietly, still leaning on her knees, elbows bent.

"I'm not going anywhere Mary," he promised. "I don't care _what_ you tell me. This doofus is here to stay."

It was then that he saw her lip quivering, even in the dark, saw the tears shimmering in her eyes but she neglected to move.

Marshall reached up and pulled her chin from the ground, eye-to-eye, face-to-face. Her skin was cool to the touch. He wondered, vaguely, how long she'd been out here. Perhaps in an effort to stop her lip shaking, she finally spoke.

"He was a criminal, Marshall," she murmured.

"I know…" he began uncertainly, not entirely sure where this was going. And then, "He was still your dad. Whatever his problems."

Mary shook her head this time – slowly. Back and forth, side-to-side.

"I did something," she murmured.

"What?" Marshall was confused as he gently tickled his fingers through her hair, rumpling lightly. "What do you mean?"

"To make him go away," she said, quicker than Marshall was expecting. "I used to think he…" she swallowed. "…That he still cared – that he hadn't left _me_. He'd left Jinx and Brandi."

He saw the shame on her face through the shadows, a lingering silhouette of days gone by.

"But mom – when she was still drunk on her ass – told me he loved me like loved them. No more, no less. So it was me too…" she shook her head. "But I can't remember…whatever I did wrong…"

"No," Marshall interrupted, deciding this little revelation had gone on long enough, halting his tangle of her hair at once. "No. You were six years old. I don't care who you think you were or who you are, what he did to you _was not fair_," he emphasized. "Not to you or to Jinx or to Brandi."

"So why do I miss him?" she whispered in a voice filled with despair and sorrow. "If what he did was so wrong, why the hell can't I get over it?"

Marshall considered, nudging himself closer to her so their hips brushed one another on the steps. He was so near he could feel her trembling – from grief or cold, he wasn't sure.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I didn't know him like you did. But it doesn't make you a terrible person. It makes you human – hurting makes you human."

Mary shut her eyes as he said this, and Marshall saw it coming a mile away – saw that it had overwhelmed her past endurance, saw that she was done with faking it. The tears came, just a few at first, rolling down her cheeks through her closed lids. But the words that escaped were tormenting – haunting and loud.

"He was supposed to come back for me…!"

And the sob ran from her lips, got out before she could stop but Marshall knew she couldn't fight anymore. Shoulders shaking, chest heaving with cries, he just let her go.

"I was such an idiot!" she bawled, her tone wrenching against the cold night air. "I am a US Marshal for Christ's sake; I deal with lowlife bastards every single day and Marshall-!" her eyes were wild as she found his, voice rising hysterically. "I actually thought he'd be back!"

Sniffling and weeping, she only allowed herself a minute to take a breath.

"How moronic can you be? He wasn't ever coming, dead or alive…" the thought made her cry harder. "He's gone…" she hiccupped through the tears.

Marshall just waited until her swimmy gaze locked in on his, eyes gleaming with fat, round tears, streaking her cheeks top to bottom.

"How you feel is fine," he assured her when he thought he could chance it. "He – not to be melodramatic – killed something in you when he left. You may not ever get over pain like that, regardless of who James became later, regardless of you knowing that he's an unlawful offender underneath…"

"How can I hate him and want him all at the same time?" she asked, trying to wipe her eyes but it was a fruitless attempt because droplets were still streaming down her face. "It's not right…it's not…"

She shook her head, just staring at Marshall with disbelief.

"_Normal_," she whispered.

Marshall sighed, considering his next words very carefully. He didn't buy into what she'd just said, but it was going to take some hefty convincing to get her believe otherwise. He put his hand on her knee, to recall her to the real world.

"Mare, you're very smart," he decided on. "You _know_ James was not a good guy. You know that."

Mary, breathless from admissions and crying, sensed there was more on the way and kept silent, her eyes tracing his fingers running up and down her leg.

"But, you adored him. You were happy with him in the time you got to spend together. In his own way, twisted as it might have been, he did love you," her husband continued, matter-of-fact and direct just like always. No matter the circumstances or the situation, he never altered his approach.

"There's nothing abnormal about pining away for days when you were content," he whispered. "You were unhappy for a very long time after that. Until…" he paused.

Mary waited; unable to stem the flow of tears, wondering vaguely in the back of her mind how Marshall could sit here and talk to her like this was nothing, like it was perfectly ordinary for them to sit outside in the middle of the night while she sobbed.

"Well, until recently," he finally finished.

Guilt swarmed Mary like hives – like a rash all over. The remorse she felt for behaving as though Marshall and Sam were not enough was overwhelming.

"Marshall, I didn't want you to see this…" she blubbered, proving she might not have been listening to his philosophical speech, too concerned with what her husband thought of her. "This woman…this person…" she spat the words with disdain.

She closed her eyes another time, tears dripping out around the corners.

"This _phony_ who craves a father that never gave her anything but heartache is not the person you fell in love with…" her voice was choking now, so thick with remorse Marshall could barely understand her.

"I'm sick with myself for it, knowing you can't possibly want that…if I lost you, if I lost Sam…"

She folded into her hands to stop the waterworks, too ashamed to look at him, but he wasn't about to let this continue.

"No-no-no-no…" Marshall was direct, practically yanking her back up in his desperation, finally getting a handle on her desire to shut herself away.

When he managed to sit her up, he placed both hands on either side of her face, crumpled and fraught with distress.

"Listen to me – listen to me," he whispered, face inches from hers.

She wasn't, and Marshall knew it. Her eyes did not match his. They were still remote – isolated.

"Hey…" his voice was soft and gentle and her orbs flickered with a light – dim, almost out, but there just the same.

"James is gone," he continued. "Thirty years, three months, two days; if and when you're able to let him go."

He allowed his right hand to crawl into her hair, to brush it away and behind her ear.

"But Mary…"

She welled up again at the mention of her name – not Mare, not babe, just Mary – and bit her lip, but he kept on.

"You, me, and Sam. We're…" he searched for the right word. "Always. Love is not something you max out on – something that fills you to the top until you can't fill anymore."

He had her now. Forest jade and large in the darkness, her eyes probed his with every word, every letter he spoke.

"I _know_ that you love me," and said matter-of-factly, hands threatening to slip while her tears fell. "But that doesn't mean you can't miss your dad. I don't believe for a minute that you see Sam and I as somehow…less than him."

He shook his head slightly, as though using the gesture to express his bewilderment of the concept. Oddly, Mary's cheeks started to grow warm as he hung on.

"And I don't love _you_ any less because you're grieving your father who _happened_ to be a fugitive," he concluded.

It wasn't that simple. Mary knew it, Marshall knew it. But she was too drained to battle anymore. And too flooded with pent-up emotion and loss to tell him otherwise. Just the same, she was starting to get it – however faintly.

One did not cancel the other, at least not in Marshall's mind. What was enough now did not erase the despair of thirty years or two days before.

There was only one phrase appropriate for how grateful she felt toward him for making her realize that.

"I do love you Marshall," was all she said.

"I love you too babe," he assured her. "Always," he repeated, and he extended his arm and waited for her to abide, to let herself be comforted.

Mary allowed her aching limbs to take over and she mirrored him, pulling him into her as much as he was doing the same. Collapsing in tears again, this time she buried her face in Marshall's shoulder. She couldn't see; only black, but she felt his gentle hands holding her in the safety of his embrace, heard his voice above her own. She squeezed him tight, gripping hard against his back. And he just squeezed in return, kneading her muscles in the sweet and tender way he always did.

"You know you're my girl…right?"

Sap and sentiment be damned, the question touched Mary so strongly it made her cry harder. This seemed to disappoint Marshall, because he sighed and patted her back roughly. The sensation – tough and strong – brought her out of Marshall's embrace slightly, swelling her heart with something fleeting. Hope.

Marshall kept her close as she calmed; arms around her even as she looked into the blanket above where only the tiniest, most miniscule star was visible.

"Do you see magic in the stars?" she whispered, her voice hazy from crying.

"What kind of magic?" Marshall asked, rubbing her shoulder as she burrowed in the crook of his arm.

"They're just…specks to me," she continued, hushed and low. "I always wondered if there was something more there. Something so far away that's really so big and vast and…" she searched for the right word. "Dazzling."

The conversation took her back to a cold evening, not unlike this one, up in the mountains waiting for Marshall's helicopter to descend and take her home. Just as he always did.

"I think I know what you mean," Marshall said, as though enlightened. "The galaxy's amazing that way."

"What way?"

She really wanted to know.

"Just the idea that…" Marshall murmured and he inclined his head, so he spoke directly next to her ear. His breath was warm on her neck as she leaned in.

"The stars are _always_ there. Even if you can't see them."

Mary lifted her head, felt the cool breeze on her face. And the other side, as Stan had said, tasted like honey – sweet with sugar and spice.

**A/N: All right, I've gotta be honest. I re-wrote this several times throughout the progression of the entire story, and I've never been fully satisfied. I find it a real challenge to write Mary as losing it, even though the toughest of us still do it. I just feel like even when she's falling apart, she's still Mary and she's still going to doubt herself and be pissed as well as upset, so I did my best to find that balance. Let's hope it wasn't too bad!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Reviews have tapered a little, but thanks to those that are still hitting that button (and thanks for reading even if you're not hitting that button!) I'm gonna keep trucking along since the story's already written. Might as well keep it moving…**

**Much longer chapter this time, but I hope it's enjoyed. It's a big one LOL!**

XXX

It was almost cruelly bright when Mary finally woke the next morning. The sun shined harshly into the tiny guest room, catching every speck of dust on the dresser, all the threads in the blue-and-white checkered spread. She squinted, wondering how late she'd slept, wondering where Marshall was – until she noticed him standing just inside the door, fully dressed.

"Mmm…" the groaned incoherently, rubbing one of her eyes with her hand.

"Morning sunshine," Marshall greeted her with a silly looking smirk on his face.

It took Mary a moment to recall what had happened the night before. Although she felt heavy and a little clouded, some small weight had lifted from her chest. She guessed that was what Marshall's boyish grin was about. He knew it too.

"What time is it?" she wanted to know, leaning up on her elbow and sounding raspy from deep sleep.

"Almost eleven," Marshall reported as he ventured over and sat on the end of the bed. "I let you have a bit of a lie-in."

"Jesus…" she shook her head, predictably annoyed. "I don't remember the last time I slept that late. Do you?"

"Not really, no," Marshall agreed. "But I figured you could you use your pent-up prowess today."

Mary, coming to a little better, furrowed her brow as she sat up against the headboard. She shot him a skeptical stare, wanting answers and no beating around the bush.

"And why would that be?"

The rascally look on Marshall's face was almost too much to bear. He was way too gleeful for this to be anything Mary might actually enjoy – they were funny like that.

"We're taking a little…field trip with the kids, if you will," he teased, attempting to sound inviting but Mary wasn't buying it.

"Out with it, doofus," she demanded. "Don't toy with me."

Marshall was grateful to see her joke; to see whatever he had unlocked the night before was still undone. She'd been up and down for several days now, but he hoped this was a sign she was shifting into gear once again.

"Okay…" he conceded defeat and held out his hands. "We're taking them to a ranch – about thirty miles away, give or take."

"A ranch," Mary stated, knowing this couldn't be it. "What the hell for?"

He hesitated this time, looking a little apprehensive, but had the grace to go on.

"To go horseback riding."

He had barely finished the sentence before she opened her mouth again.

"No," she stated firmly.

"Mary, come on…"

"No!" she shook her head, determined to be stubborn. "Marshall, I don't ride horses. I don't even like animals! They're dirty and smelly and crap all over the place. Forget it."

Marshall sighed, feeding her one of his better exasperated looks. He stared her down, boring into her with his steely blue eyes, willing her to give in or at least waver.

Mary crossed her arms and stared right back, but eventually sighed herself and shook her head.

"What is the point of this?" she asked. "Why do they even want to go?"

"They have the day off school," Marshall reminded her. "They already know how to ride, but they don't get to go that often. Wait till you see this place – it's incredible. Actual white picket fences and stalls and everything."

"Will a rainbow come up over the nearest crest of the hill too?" she snarked and Marshall actually laughed. He scooted forward on his butt so he was practically sitting on Mary's knees.

"I wouldn't ask…" he claimed, which Mary knew wasn't true but she decided to let it be. "But the kids really want me to come."

Guilt – nice. Really nice.

"Sam's never seen a real horse," he dangled in a tantalizingly tempting voice.

He knew he had her there. She despised herself for the sentiment, but she couldn't help it. Sheriff Sam at his very first ranch. Could she pass that up?

Rolling her eyes spectacularly, she voiced a very resigned, "Fine."

He looked so jovial he might've pumped his fist in the air in triumph. As it was, he leaned over and pulled her right hand out of her lap and kissed her knuckles, holding her fist in his palms.

"That's my girl," he praised.

It was this phrase that took Mary a little more forcefully back to the night before. Slowly, she wiggled her fingers out of Marshall's iron grip, wanting to shrink away from him. Although she replayed his words of encouragement, she still couldn't fight being a little embarrassed. Transferring her hands back into her lap, she waited for Marshall to respond like she knew he was going to.

"Don't worry about it," he said calmly.

"I didn't say anything," she interjected, trying to save face but she still felt her cheeks go pink beyond her control.

"You were going to," he decided.

"What makes you such an expert smart ass?" she retorted, even though it gave her a strange kind of comfort to know he could read her so well. Years before, it would've infuriated her but this was different. Unique.

"I'll save you the trouble," Marshall replied with a sigh as though the intellectual effort was draining him. "You were about to say you shouldn't have acted the way you did last night, that it didn't mean anything, that you want to forget it. It was ridiculous and juvenile and everything is fine," he finished smartly.

When Mary just shook her head, somewhere between annoyed and amused, he knew he'd done it.

"Sound about right?" he collected.

Mary snorted, blowing her bangs up and eyed him mischievously.

"Any chance of me getting away with any of that?"

Marshall stood up casually, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed and went to her head. There, he laid a fluttering kiss on her hair and then tousled it with his fingers.

"Not one, cowgirl."

Looking up at him, she was filled with a safety and a satisfaction she wasn't sure she'd possessed a few days before.

"You are a trip," was what she said.

"I know this is a foreign concept to you…" Marshall went on as though she hadn't said anything, striding back across the room to the door. "But it _is_ okay to have fun on a vacation. Insane, I know."

"Positively madcap," she replied.

Marshall finally laughed, ending their game of back-and-forth as he said, "Get dressed. Wagon pulls out in thirty."

And he shut the door before she could begin to argue.

So, with a great deal of apprehension in her gut, Mary dressed in a pair of jeans and her usual heels, wondering if she could manage a horse in the shoes. One of her usual plain shirts would do – her chosen dark green and long sleeve. And she topped it off with a jacket and thought to bring a scarf just in case it got cold. For good measure, she tied her hair back in a ponytail, betting on some pretty hefty gusts of wind judging by the rain a few nights before.

Partially satisfied, she went to Marshall's old room to find Sam still in his pajamas and playing some sort of truck-smashing game with Daniel and Quinn. Reluctantly, she tore the youngest away from his cousins to put some real clothes on him – jeans and a warm flannel button-up, red plaid with streaks of black and white. Stuffing his jacket into the diaper back, she arrived downstairs in record time, much to the surprise of Marshall, claiming she was ready to roll.

The drive to the plantation, as Mary kept calling it, took longer than thirty minutes – whatever Marshall's claims. It gave her a spectacularly boring view of her original picture of Kansas; wheat field after wheat field, prairie plains at their best. The ranch, it transpired, was halfway between the two towns of Gardner and Edgerton, holes if Mary ever saw them and scarcely qualifying as 'towns' in the first place.

But once they reached the horse stables, she could see what Marshall meant. The place was enormous. A huge white barn smack in the middle of the fields housed stall after stall, all filled with horses of varying sizes and colors – baby ponies, just a few weeks old, huge steeds with glossy coats of brown and black, their manes silky and shiny. The farm itself was beautiful, even though it was swampy and soggy from the storm. Mary tried picturing it in the summer and knew it would house luscious green lawns, the grass rich and thick, sprawling hills and that white picket fence snaking every edge. As it was, trees sprouted up here and there with creamy white buds just beginning to blossom on their branches.

Sophie and Sarah tore off for two particular horses right away and Mary imagined they had-had a hand in naming them – Blossom and Buttercup. After Griffin equipped them with riding helmets, they clip-clopped off around the ranch at a leisurely pace, chatting and occasionally giving the horses a jolt to go a little faster.

"Too bad you didn't bring your excavating galoshes," Marshall remarked as Mary followed him out into the field holding Sam.

"No kidding," she agreed, thinking of the rubber-soled shoes left at home she typically used when in the trenches of a crime scene. They'd come in handy right now with the marsh they were trying to wade through.

Marshall was leading a horse christened Skydancer out to pasture, and he was snacking on clumps of grass as they went, chewing and chomping with every bite. As horses went, Mary thought he wasn't so bad – smaller than most, his coat a smooth chestnut color, eyes big and brown.

"Claire Bear!" Marshall called across to his niece as she rode into view, Julian at her side. The steed she sat astride stuttered to a halt in front of them.

"Looking good," he said approvingly. "Keep your head up – make sure you know where you're going."

"Right," she nodded, clearly appreciating the tactics even at five years old.

"You gonna take a turn Mary?" Julian asked, leaning on the animal and squinting in the sun.

"Of course," Marshall responded for her.

"Um…what?" Mary interrupted sharply. "Kind of have my hands full," she reminded him, bouncing Sam up as he swatted at the gnats circling in the grass.

"A real woman never used motherhood to claim she was incapable of roughing it," Marshall raised his eyebrows, pulling on the rope around Skydancer's neck to keep him from lumbering off.

Before Mary could shoot one back at him, Claire piped up.

"Please Mary!" she begged, practically leaping up and down even sitting on her horse. "It's so fun! And it's not hard! Please-please!" and she actually clasped her hands together as though in prayer, which earned her a stern, "Claire!" from her father as she let go of the reins.

For the second time that day, Marshall was sure he had sucked Mary in. Sam was starting to get antsy on her hip and she fed her husband a wholly exasperated glance, telling him silently that he was going to pay – big time – for this little adventure.

"Not yet," she muttered so Claire couldn't hear. She didn't need an audience if she was going to be forced into this.

Marshall nodded his understanding and Mary figured she could start light. Claire, deciding she was through for the moment, hopped down from her horse with help from Julian and joined her aunt and uncle as Mary stepped forward with Sam so he could get a look at his favorite animal.

"Make sure you hold him," Mary warned Marshall before she got too close. "Tight."

"Yes master," he quipped, but nodded sedately to show he knew she was serious.

Stretching the line of rope taut, Marshall appealed to his son as Mary came near.

"Sam, check this out..." he reached for the little boy's hand, cool from the brisk breeze, sheltering his tiny fingers in his own. "Can you pet the horsie?" he guided.

Husband and wife stood side-by-side now, Sam tingling between them like the sun around the stars as Marshall helped him extend his hand to the soft, silken coat of the pony.

"Isn't he soft?" his daddy prompted, and then let his hand float off the child's so he could try on his own.

Sam batted the air uncertainly for a moment and Mary shifted him closer so he could get a better reach. Cautiously, he worked his fingers through the fur, slowly at first and then wiggled the limbs against the body, testing it out.

"Horsie?" he asked curiously, as though wanting to make sure this was legit.

"For real!" Marshall bugged his eyes out in his excitement and Mary was hard-pressed not to grin.

As if on cue, Skydancer let out a low sigh through his huge nostrils, a whinny uncanny of those in Sam's storybooks and movies. Their little boy giggled joyously at the sound, but pulled his hand back in his excitement as though too much contact was a bit frightening all at once.

"Horsie!" he squealed, confirming it.

"He likes you Sam!" Claire proclaimed below them. "That's how horsies say hello!"

Marshall chuckled and spontaneously, Mary placed her hand on Claire's hair – strawberry blonde and baby-fine, satiny to the touch. She didn't flinch, like she thought it was the most natural thing in the world, but Mary's heart fluttered in cheer as she accepted the gesture.

"What do you say we let mama take a ride on the horsie?" Marshall suggested at once.

Mary opened her mouth to shut him up but Sam, squirming all over in anticipation in his mother's arms, beat her to the punch.

"Ride-ride!" he repeated enthusiastically.

"Nice going, doofus," Mary groused and Claire let out a giggle of her own, covering her mouth with both her hands.

Admittedly, Mary was starting to feel spurred by the fact that Sam was talking so much. Deep down, she knew he _could_ talk – just chose not to. Something told her the words were coming out because he was so thrilled and she couldn't deny that made her happy…made her heart sing in relief.

"Here Julian…take the sheriff…" Marshall referred to Sam before Mary could protest and, by some act that was not her own, she found herself passing him off – first to Marshall and then to Julian.

"Come here buddy…" her brother-in-law held out his arms. Fortunately, Sam was so caught up in the horse he didn't seem to mind the unfamiliar face.

Mary stepped close enough to Marshall that she knew Claire was out of earshot. In the distance, she could see Sophie and Sarah on their own horses, galloping serenely through the trees, Griffin trailing to keep an eye on them. In the background, she heard Daniel and Quinn who had not donned steeds, but gone to climb one of those trees just sprouting spring flowers under Carolyn's watchful stare.

So close to Marshall she could see the whites behind his sparkling blues, she spoke in a hushed voice.

"Not cool," she informed him, barely moving her lips.

"You're just figuring that out now?" he mouthed back.

Why was he so damn clever?

"I am going to fall on my ass," she went on. "You really want to see that?"

"I might," he shrugged. "You've got a nice ass."

"And you're okay ruining it," she retorted.

They were going to have to wrap this up; Mary could practically feel Julian smirking in their direction.

"Once around the grove," he jerked his head at the circle of trees about fifty yards behind them, where the twins were riding. "It'll take less than five minutes."

Mary debated whether she could stand to give up five minutes of humiliation. She'd never ridden a horse before in her life. They hadn't exactly taken family outings when she was a kid and New Jersey was hardly known for its farm life.

Only one condition would get her on.

"You have to ride with me," she bargained.

Marshall seemed surprised, leaning back slightly as though assessing her from afar – trying to figure her out.

"We'll have to go bareback."

For some reason, Mary found this funny.

"Sounds hot," she teased, trying not to laugh and give away her hand.

Marshall didn't make the effort and snickered at the phrase. Extending his hand, without waiting for her approval, he yanked her fingers forcefully into his and stepped over to Skydancer who was still grounding up grass in his teeth.

"Sam, your mommy's going to ride!" Claire announced, clapping her hands. "Isn't she brave?"

Mary couldn't help feeling touched even though she knew the little girl was only saying it to get a reaction out of the baby. Sam merely smiled, pointing and babbling incoherently at the pony. Mary was curious to know what he was saying, what thoughts were rattling through his mind that he felt the need to express, be it in his own special way.

Anchoring Mary's hand, Marshall set about instructing immediately.

"Foot in the stirrup…" he indicated with a jerk of his head.

She hung onto his fingers as long as possible, drawing from his strength as he hoisted her up.

"Leg-up…" he continued, as though he was teaching a class.

Vaguely, Mary wondered how she was going to swing her entire leg over the broad back of this thing, and he wasn't nearly the size of the ones Sophie and Sarah were riding. But before she could begin to think about it, Marshall had given her a push and something – some instinct – just told her how to propel herself over. She overbalanced slightly once on top, but managed to hang on and slide into the saddle.

"I thought you said we were riding bareback," she reminded Marshall as he climbed up gracefully, with ease.

"We'll just be tight in the saddle," he changed his mind, and snug they were.

Mary could feel Marshall's chest pressing hard into her back, his arms curled around her, helping her fingers find the reins. But there was a strange safety with him behind her, affixing her into her spot. She knew she couldn't possibly fall with him so close.

Amazing, it still took her way too much time to remember that.

"Ready?" he asked, his hands on top of hers, both of them holding the ropes – as one.

Mary was faintly embarrassed with Claire and Julian watching, but she also caught sight of Sam's face. He wasn't grinning anymore, but the way he looked at her – it reminded her so forcefully of when he was a newborn. There was faith, awe, and conviction in every probe of his big blue eyes. With a pang, Mary suddenly wished everyone could put all their hopes and dreams into one person and trust that it was going to come out all right – strong hands and soft words to chase away the doubt every single time.

Unable to say it, but feeling it with every surge of her blood, every beat in her heart, Mary nodded. If Marshall hadn't been so near, he'd never have felt it.

With a nudge of his heels a gentle tug of the rope, their Skydancer took off – much faster than Mary was expecting.

"Jesus!" she burst as she slipped and fell forward in shock, clutching the pony's mane for support.

All Marshall did was laugh and he used his free hand to grip Mary's shoulder and pull her back into a sitting position.

"Cool your jets, cowgirl," he advised, using that ridiculous nickname for the second time that day. "You're fine."

Marshall knew it was foolish, but he was oddly endeared to the fact that something that came so easily to him scared her – whatever her indications otherwise.

"Would you slow him down?" she snapped in front of him. "He's going to buck me right off."

"Someone's a drama queen," Marshall chortled. "He's barely trotting. Look at the twins."

Rather against her will, Mary altered her direction to Sophie and Sarah who were much further ahead in the circle now. With a jolt, she realized they were almost at a full gallop, their stallions running with their heads bent, intertwining through the fences beyond, manes flowing in the sweet spring breeze. Well, she was a dope.

"Yeah, okay," she admitted sullenly, heart slowing down as she became accustomed to the pace.

Graciously, Marshall did not laugh this time and shouted some command steering Skydancer in the right path in the grove. Mary could still see Sam in the distance, a speck in Julian's arms. Claire was watching too, hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

Now that she stopped to think about it, the jaunt wasn't terrible; the gentle clip-clop of the hooves was rhythmic and relaxing. Huge, fluffy white clouds spanned the bright blue sky above, just barely visible beneath the criss-crossed branches of the trees.

Noticing she'd gone silent, and not being able to see her face, Marshall wanted to be sure this was going over well.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mmm hmm," she hummed. "No big deal."

Marshall almost admired her ability to pretend right to the bitter end.

"You know…" he said as they continued their little excursion. "Mom and dad used to bring us here when we were kids. These trees weren't even planted then. It was just…the fields and the big open sky. Nothing but light and land."

Mary wanted to make fun of his philosophical ramblings as usual, but it sounded too nice. Free – full of spirit and flight.

"Mmm…" she murmured for a second time. "I wish I could've seen that," she twisted around awkwardly to face him. "Especially you on a horse for the first time."

"I was a gangly six-year-old, I do admit," Marshall conceded. "But nobody could lasso them better than yours truly."

"You didn't _actually_ lasso horses, you dweeb," she accused with a bitter and disbelieving snicker. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Marshall didn't answer that one and they rode in silence for another few moments, the more experienced careful not to press the issue of going faster – long and leisurely, slow and steady. Such a method got you through a lot more than horseback riding.

"It's nice to come back," he finally said. "With you."

Mary just smiled, somewhat grateful he couldn't see her. She allowed him to steer her back home, back to Sam, Julian, and Claire who were waiting with approving grins on their faces. Marshall called for Skydancer to come to a halt and slid off expertly to the ground.

"You did good partner," he said, offering his hand which Mary accepted at once, slipping back to earth somewhat elegantly herself.

Thinking she had probably done her limit for the day, she was therefore shocked when Marshall opened his mouth again.

"I think its Sam's turn to try."

Mary was horrified, and wasn't afraid to let it be known.

"No!" she said at once, somewhat louder than she intended. "Marshall, no…"

She actually stepped forward, prepared to fight him for her son – her sheriff, her Sammy boy, her buddy, her pal, her Smush – the protective mama bear rearing its head.

"Is that your new favorite word?" her husband mused casually, taking the baby from Julian where he squirmed around in high anticipation, groping as far as he was able to get another whack at the horse.

"Marshall, he could fall off…" she claimed dumbly, maneuvering herself between him and the pony.

"So could you," he said with an incredulous look. "And yet – somehow; it's a mystery to me – you managed not to."

"But…" she began, but then wasn't sure how to continue, one hand raised in midair like the gesture alone could stop him.

Unfortunately, words weren't going to come any easier now or later, because the five of them were joined by Daniel, Quinn, and Carolyn, evidently tired of the trees. The boys were out-of-breath and had grass in their hair, the cuffs on their jeans soaked. Quinn had mud on his butt, like he might've slid or gotten pushed by his elder cousin.

"Mary, I saw you riding out there!" Carolyn announced, like this was the greatest accomplishment the Midwest had ever seen. "For a first-timer; you did really well…"

Mary thought about appealing to her mother-in-law to get Marshall not to go ahead with his absolutely crazy idea, but something told her she would approve of the notion. From the sound of it, her boys had been on horses practically from the minute they were born.

"I was just about to take Sam up," Marshall himself interrupted these thoughts.

"Oh, he'll love it!" Carolyn declared, proving Mary's theory and shooting her down without even knowing it.

Still, she couldn't let her fears not be voiced here. Somebody had to tell her, in no uncertain terms, that this was okay.

"But isn't it…?" she turned directly to Carolyn now, hoping she wasn't showing just how worried she really was. "Isn't it…dangerous?"

Carolyn passed her a sympathetic smile, reached out, and caressed her arm lightly – a reassuring touch.

"Marshall's very careful, honey," she promised. "He took Daniel up when he was only a year old."

Mary couldn't help wondering how _that_ had gone. Sam had been a bit of a late bloomer and she was struggling to remember whether he had even been able to hold his own head up at twelve months. Turning back to Marshall, she threw him a pleading, almost desperate look.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Do you trust me?"

There was one way, and one way only, to answer that question.

"Yes," she whispered.

Marshall nodded and set on without further ado, "Hold onto him for a minute while I get on."

Once Sam was securely in her arms, Mary held him tight, pressed him close against her chest, hugging him as though he were going on some long and fateful journey – not just a trot around a circle of trees. He was warm and snuggly, but clearly anxious to get back to Marshall on the horse. His flyaway, molasses-colored hair was tangled from the wind, cheeks pink from the chill in the air.

"Be a good boy…" she whispered in his ear, something she never did, but it was the first time she was going to let him out of her clutches to do something she was really concerned about.

He cooed softly – not a real answer, but sufficient nonetheless.

"Claire go grab the mounting block from the stable," Julian instructed.

"Make Daniel do it!" she whined, hands on her hips, clearly not wanting to miss the event.

"I asked you," Julian reminded her sternly. "Unless you want to sit in the stalls and not ride at all."

With a classic roll of her eyes and a dramatic sigh, Claire sashayed her way back to the barn in a defiant exit, but quickly picked up the pace once inside the house. She returned within a matter of moments, holding a rectangular-prism-shaped stool, which she quickly deposited right beside the horse.

"Mare, stand on that," Marshall instructed. "And pass him up to me."

It was now or never. Personally, Mary wished for never.

But as her feet took her onto the wooden post, slowly passing her son into the very capable hands of his father, she began to wonder why she lived for so much 'never' when she'd had far more than she could bear already this week.

She'd liked Marshall's 'always' from the night before so much better.

With a critical eye, she watched Marshall settle Sam right in his lap, directly in front of him like a total pro. Even from the ground, Mary could tell he was secure and safe – just as she had been.

"Here we go sheriff!" he shouted and with one last, very significant look at Mary, he dug his heels into Skydancer who marched right off.

At first, Mary stood on tiptoe the whole time, determined to be able to keep an eye on the pair of them in the distance. She could see Marshall talking softly to Sam, who seemed to be enjoying himself. With a jolt of her heart, she saw the horse pick up speed at her husband's request, ascend into a full-blown trot.

But as they came around the corner, Mary saw something entirely different. Sam was laughing hysterically, eyes shut, his whole body shaking with the spasms – spasms of delight, pure joy and ecstasy. His sweet giggle rang long and loud in the huge, vast open sky above them, floated into Mary's soul and made her heart soar as though it were growing wings. She felt lighter than she had in days as she saw her son's eyes shine and flash with a pleasure he had never known. Marshall was laughing too as he hung onto him, listening to the words that spilled from his little boy's lips.

"He's a natural!" Carolyn declared from beside her.

Claire was jumping up and down on the spot, Daniel and Quinn pointing as they watched.

"Amazing…" Mary whispered.

It was like he was flying. Weightless, free, no wings, no attachments, no strings. Flying like it was the simplest thing in the world. Mary had never known something so positively mundane could bring such bliss.

And as Marshall returned to the group, Mary saw his face flushed in unmistakable excitement and unexplainable elation that came from giving his boy everything he'd ever wanted.

And as Mary held out her hands to pull Sam down – just when she thought things could hardly improve anymore – the unthinkable happened. It really _did_ get better than this.

Once in the safety of his mother's arms, he just exploded.

"Mama-mama, horse! Mama, ride horse!" he chattered, his whole body actually trembling he was so excited. "Horsie, mama – horsie!"

Mary just laughed and held him close, trying to remember the way his eyes had danced in his happiness, wanting to spin in this moment forever. With this thought, she turned on the spot, whirling him around in a circle pressed cheek-to-cheek.

"You're a cowboy sheriff Sam…" she murmured against him, eyes on Marshall coming down off the steed.

He simply reveled in the moment, all else forgotten, blue eyes twinkling in a way reminiscent of his son's. Mary paused and shifted his tiny arms away from her neck to see into Sam's face. He was breathless with delight, obviously so wound-up he couldn't hardly stand it.

Never before had Mary thought he looked so beautiful; maple syrup tufts, deep oceanic eyes gleaming with the thrill of his accomplishment.

"Is Sam a cowboy?" she asked again and there was no accompanying, 'yeah' this time.

"Sam cowboy – Sam cowboy!" their little one reinforced. "Mama, Sam cowboy – horse!"

And for the very first time, Mary wondered why _everyone_ didn't save all their words for the greatest moment of their life.

**A/N: I hope it's not just oozing sap. But Mary needed definitely needed this!**

**I gotta tell you though, I hope my explaination of horse-riding held up because I have lived in Kansas my entire life and never once ridden a horse so I hope I covered well! The ranch is based on a real place between Gardner and Edgerton, but I don't think it's open to the public LOL! It is gorgeous though, and the best I could come up with for this scene. Review please!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I do not own In Plain Sight.**

XXX

The excitement of the afternoon tapered away into the evening, Griffin and Julian forced to take the kids home to rest up for school the next day. Mary and Marshall were looking at their last minutes of a Kansas excursion as well. They had Tuesday to themselves, but were set to fly back to Albuquerque Wednesday morning, much to the delight of Stan who was a little harassed at the office and had called multiple times to tell them so.

This made it an intimate Monday evening with just the three of them and Carolyn. They abandoned posts at the dining table and ate in the living room; Sam perched atop the coffee table with a handful of assorted snacks – grapes, dry cereal, even some more marshmallows. Carolyn sat on the ground below him to make sure he didn't topple off while Mary and Marshall occupied the couch.

"This is delicious Carolyn…" Mary mixed in among the light conversation, digging her fork through the cheesy lasagna her mother-in-law had baked. "I might need the recipe."

"Of course that means she'd actually have to _cook_ and considering take-out containers have ruled her life for God knows how long…" Marshall interjected, which earned him a hard smack on the arm from his wife.

Carolyn laughed watching them which reminded Mary, yet again, of her first trip to the land of the wheat when Seth had died. Marshall's mother had held up so well, but had seemed disheartened by their need to return home.

Marshall must've recognized the look as well, because he softened.

"I promise it won't be as long before we visit next time," he stated abruptly.

"One of the few promises you usually don't keep," Carolyn reminded him with a teasing smile. "But believe me Marshall, I understand," she pointed out before he could apologize. "I lived with your father for enough years to know that when duty calls – duty calls."

And she actually raised her hand to her forehead in a mock salute. Sam happened to be watching her and paused in devouring a cheerio to mimic his grandmother. However, it looked more like he was whacking himself in the head than saluting which caused Carolyn to laugh.

"I'm sure gonna miss you Sammy boy…" she murmured, patting his back. His flannel shirt Mary had put him in that morning was rumpled from his adventures outdoors, but had held up well.

"Does anybody call him that?" Carolyn asked. "From what Marshall tells me, he has quite a few nicknames."

"More than we know what to do with most of the time," her son conceded. "But I suppose it'll come in handy when he's older and getting into trouble – we can just rattle off the string of them so he knows we mean business."

"I look forward to _that_ day," Mary said sarcastically, sipping from the Coke she'd brought to accompany her dinner.

"Tell me I didn't just add another one to the list," Carolyn sighed, referring back to her mention of 'Sammy boy.'

"No," Mary shook her head. "Not new, actually. My sister Brandi calls him Sammy boy."

Carolyn nodded, a half-smile playing on her face as she said, "How's she doing? Marshall said she was a little under-the-weather yesterday."

Now that Mary stopped to think about it, she hadn't heard from Brandi that day. It was most unusual, but she tried not to concern herself. If something had gone wrong, Jinx or Peter would've phoned if her sister, for some reason, could not. Mary told herself she was just resting up, gathering her strength for what lay ahead. From the sound of it, Peter was scarcely letting her move so things couldn't be too bad.

"I'm sure she's fine," Mary reported. "She's just been a little down with…" a swallow, even though she'd already finished her drink. "With the news, as of late."

Her mother-in-law topped this off with another nod. Mary felt Marshall's hand on her back, rubbing gently as though to soothe her. The only sound was Sam jabbering to himself, turning a grape over and over in his fingers like he was checking for abnormalities. But even as the silence became awkward, Mary realized there was something she had yet to voice on this trip and now was the time to do so.

"I'm sorry about last night," she apologized. "I shouldn't have run out on dinner – what you said was nice."

"It was my mistake, honey," Carolyn put a hand to her chest, setting her own beverage on the table beside Sam. "If you wanted to keep it private, that was your business…"

"Mom, you didn't know," Marshall articulated what Mary was already thinking. "Mary understands, and I do too."

"It's my fault," her daughter-in-law decided with reckless abandon. "Daddy issues manifest themselves in me more than I like to admit."

The touch of Marshall's hand on her back told her he didn't see it this way, but having this conversation with Carolyn wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as Mary was expecting. She was understanding and kind and it didn't hurt so much anymore.

"Mary…" she stated plainly, recalling the other woman to Marshall in the way she kept her face impassive and direct. "Having someone you love so much not be who you wanted them to is something I can't begin to reconcile. It's hard right now…"

She paused, considering her next words, but Mary was listening to every breath.

"Closure is pretty passé, but I hope you find it down the road," she finished.

"Me too," Marshall said quietly. "And you're always welcome here with us if you're itching for some corny-clichéd family togetherness."

"Lovely, dear," Carolyn griped before Mary could say anything to either of their comments.

Mary wasn't sure what to say, unexpectedly moved by the sentiment even though neither her husband nor her mother-in-law were making a big deal out of getting their opinion out in the open. They just stated it like a fact and moved on – no need for tears or theatrics or superfluous drama. It was nice to know you could still say all the right things even without a big production.

Leaning into the couch cushions, she found the crook of Marshall's arm and snuggled into it – soft, protected, and affectionate.

"When I was four…" she started to say, not sure where the revelation was coming from. "My father gave a stuffed bear – Biscuit."

Marshall knew this story, but he still enjoyed it.

"I was afraid to sleep alone in my room – in the dark – and he told me the bear would watch over me," she revealed, still unsure as to why this was all spilling out. "But I ended up giving Biscuit to Brandi because…"

Mary shrugged, urged on by the calm of Marshall's embrace.

"I guess because I thought I could take care of myself," she found herself enlightening the other two.

And now the tale made a little more sense, like the pieces of the puzzle were finding their jigsaw, the corners matching and fitting together just as they were supposed to.

"I still can," she said firmly, wanting this known, her true nature slipping through without wanting others to see her as weak and co-dependent.

Marshall seemed to sense more was coming and Carolyn was listening as though this were the bedtime fable, encouraged to slide beneath the covers and let it take you away into your dreams.

"But…" Mary's voice dropped to a whisper and she had to let her gaze fall to her fingers in her lap. She saw Marshall's hand resting beside hers and inched over to take it.

"It's…" she choked up, but buried it underneath what needed to be said. "Nice. To know I don't have to anymore."

As soon as the words escaped, Mary felt a heaviness in her chest she hadn't known resided break apart, strings splayed and severed, frayed at the edges as they cut into pieces. Marshall, God bless him, knew what a big step this was for her and he leaned over to kiss her temple. The feel of his lips on her skin was sweet and flurrying with flickers of happiness. He saw the single tear fall from her eye, but had the grace not to say anything.

To cover up, Mary impulsively reached out to grab Sam. As though he knew it too, he let his mother pull him from the table and into her lap where his warm little body nestled against hers.

"I say we finish that toast from the other night," Marshall suggested, and he took up his glass from the table, Carolyn doing the same.

Awkwardly, Mary managed to guide her fingers around Sam's fidgety little body and clasp her Coke, which was nearly empty.

Marshall raised his first, Carolyn following suit. Mary was last, but she held steady.

"To family," was all he said.

Mary had expected something in the nature of her father mixed in, but he conveyed that with the merest glance at his wife, eyes flickering skyward and back again. Feeding her the softest of smiles, he clinked his glass with hers and then his mother's.

Draining the remainder in one gulp, Mary pressed her cheek to the top of Sam's head, breathing him in, burrowing him close.

"To you," she murmured to herself.

**A/N: A little shorter this time, but they're about to pick up in length. Enjoy!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank-you for continuing to read! Things are gonna pick up in the push to the end!**

XXX

When Mary and Marshall woke the next morning, it was to find Sam already up and dressed and downstairs chomping his breakfast with Carolyn, banging the table of his high chair happily. His grandmother was sitting at the counter, sipping coffee and perusing the newspaper while a light drizzle fell outside the window.

"Mom…" Marshall greeted her, eyes traveling from her to Sam and back again. "You didn't have to get Sam up."

"Please," Carolyn waved a no-nonsense hand. "I heard his little voice through the crack in the door about seven o'clock. He was being such a good little man; I couldn't leave him. Besides…I miss having a breakfast companion," she leaned over and rubbed noses with her grandson, who blinked furiously but seemed to enjoy the attention just the same.

"What was he saying?" Mary asked as she laid a kiss on her boy's head making her way to the coffee pot.

"Something about you," Carolyn took a dreg from her steaming mug.

"Me?" Mary was bewildered. She poured herself a cup and stood across from Carolyn to get the details while Marshall gave Sam a few more Lucky Charms scattered on his tray.

"Hard to say," Carolyn conceded, eyeing Sam with skepticism. "Just a lot of 'mama-mama.' I caught 'horse' a few times."

"He was asking for me?" Mary was flabbergasted, but Marshall evidently had something else in mind.

"Do you think he remembers yesterday?" he chuckled incredulously, hardly daring to consider the possibility.

"You're the baby expert," Mary informed him, grabbing a muffin from inside the breadbox stationed on the counter. "You tell me."

"I don't really know what their recall capacity is like," he admitted. "How much they can take in before they forget it. Something stuck with him, that's for sure," and he rumpled Sam's hair affectionately.

As Mary stepped over to her husband and son, she couldn't help thinking it was a nice picture – Sam dreaming about flowing fields of flowers and rosebuds, riding horseback with his dad, that weightless and suspended feeling like you were floating in midair but couldn't crash to the ground.

"Another beautiful day," Marshall remarked before Mary could utter any of this, jerking his head at the window to his right where rain fell softly in the puddles on the deck, already hollow from the storm the other night.

"I think it's cozy," Carolyn told him. "Cool and grey…perfect for a nap or a good book."

Mary could not remember the last time she'd taken a nap and she probably hadn't engaged in pleasure reading since high school. Even then it had been limited. Still, she wasn't sure what else she and Marshall were going to do today and fielding calls from Stan before their departure the following morning was likely to suck up some of their time anyway.

"I think I'll take the sheriff here to get cleaned up," she voiced aloud, hoisting Sam out of his high chair, face smeared with milk from his bottle.

Taking him to the sink, she sat him on the counter and wet a washcloth to wipe him up.

"Come on bud, don't…" she was forced to say when he wiggled away from her clutches, not wanting his face prodded and poked. "It'll take two seconds…"

She ended up chasing him with one hand and holding his leg with the other so he wouldn't stumble off the counter all together. So intent on getting him to sit still, she didn't notice Carolyn leave to grab laundry. She was therefore surprised when Marshall snuck up behind her, threw his arms around her waist and spun her around to face him.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked as she stared up into his shiny blue eyes, no scorn evident in her tone.

"Loving on my lady," he said, cheesy as ever. "Got a problem with that?"

"Um…" she rolled her eyes. "Maybe. Since we're in your mother's kitchen and you know how I feel about public displays of affection," she poked her finger into his chest at these words and distinctly felt him squeeze her backside in response.

"I like seeing you smile," was his response. "Sue me."

"Might just have to," she smirked for his benefit and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, square and sound on the lips.

She was still smooching on him, long and low, when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Tearing only half her mouth away, Marshall's breath hot on her neck, she only heard two words.

"Leave it," he said hoarsely. Clearly, he had other things on his mind.

"I can't; it could be Stan," she reasoned, knowing she had to keep the level head at the moment.

He captured her lips a second time before letting her slink out of his arms, however reluctantly, a poor and sad looking pout on his face. Maneuvering the Blackberry out of her back pocket, she tossed Marshall the washcloth still hanging limply in her right hand.

"Work on Smush," she instructed – a bad response to the mock-disappointment in his features.

"I'd rather work on you," he teased playfully, running up and down her cheek now instead of her mouth. She couldn't stop herself from giggling; his touch was tickly and fine, the smallest strands putting every fiber in her skin on high alert.

Resigned to letting him be a slave to his hormones, Marshall was still kissing her neck when she finally answered the phone without thinking to check who it was.

"Hello?" she said with a stupid schoolgirl grin on her face.

An odd sort of muffled noise came through the speaker and Mary felt the doubt creep in, furrowing her brow and losing the smile.

"Mary…Mary…"

There was no mistaking that hoarse voice, scratchier than usual because it was obviously hung high and fraught with tears.

"Brandi?" she prompted, and she immediately pulled – hard – away from Marshall to listen properly. He stumbled against the counter, but didn't look offended.

"Brandi, what's wrong?" she went on before her sister could answer.

And yet she thought she had a very shrewd idea what was wrong. It made her heart race. Not now – not now. They were in Kansas, hundreds of miles away. Not now…

"Mary…I'm scared; I'm scared…" she gulped, swallowing to take a breath.

"Squish, calm down," she implored, turning on her Marshal voice. "Calm down. What's going on?"

Marshall had taken pause too, holding Sam with one hand to the counter and waiting expectantly for the news.

Mary could hear Brandi breathing fast, trying to get a grip before she spoke again, and Mary pulled in all of her resolve to be patient.

"It's the baby…" she finally managed, which brought on a fresh round of sobs. "I think the baby's coming…"

Mary's first thought, one that she was grateful she managed not to voice aloud because it would only upset Brandi further, was that it was too soon. She backtracked before speaking again; reminding herself that thirty-six weeks, while not full term was not horrendous and they could certainly deal with it.

"Brandi, you need to be sure," was her sage advice. "You're a few weeks away yet; it could be false labor…"

At these words, Marshall gathered the still-smudgy Sam into his arms, efficiently wiping up his face which got him nothing but a loud squeal. Mary had to press her index finger to her ear to be certain she could hear Brandi.

"Mary, it's the real thing," she assured her with more conviction than her sister was anticipating. "My water broke."

Oh, shit.

Still, all was not lost. It was Brandi's first pregnancy; her labor would be long. They would get back in plenty of time to see her little one hit the ground running.

"Squish, where are you?" Mary wanted to know. "Call Peter or call an ambulance; you need to go the hospital."

She fought hard to stay moderate, but anxiety was creeping into every pore of her body. She had never been good with anything pregnancy-related, least of all her own experience.

"Peter's not here!" Brandi shouted, the words wrenching against the static in the phone and making Mary's pulse quicken severely. "He's back in Santa Fe to close that deal; the meeting is this afternoon. He wanted to get it wrapped up before the baby came…"

She was really bawling now, coming completely apart and Mary knew she could not do the same when she was like this.

"Well, call mom!" she demanded, voice rising a little hysterically against her will.

"She's in Roswell!" were her next earth-shattering words. "Don't you remember? I told you she was taking the girls to that dance competition; she left early this morning!"

"Jesus Christ…" Mary breathed, covering her eyes with her hand as the severity of the circumstances hit her.

Her mind worked furiously, using her training as a US Marshal to figure out what was to be done. Santa Fe really wasn't that far away. She guessed Peter had his phone off if he was in a meeting, but she could get Stan to track where he'd gone – what building – and they could get a hold of him that way. Jinx was another story. Roswell was almost two and a half hours from Albuquerque. Who knew what could happen in that space of time?

Before she could rationalize with Brandi, both her sister and her husband spoke at once.

"What do you need?" were Marshall's words.

"Mary, I'm so afraid…tell me what to do…please tell me what to do…"

Mary flashed her eyes to Marshall, and it was his steadfast and stable phrase that rang in her ears, Brandi's plea a distant hum.

She made the decision without even thinking twice. You did what had to be done.

"Marshall and I are on our way."

The effect was instantaneous. Marshall was out of the room, Sam in his grip, back upstairs in an instant to start packing their suitcases. Vaguely, Mary wondered if there was even a flight to Albuquerque, especially with the rain but that wasn't what was really on her mind right now.

"Brandi, listen to me," she said firmly as she followed Marshall up the steps. "Call an ambulance. You have plenty of time before you deliver."

She hoped that was true.

"We will find Peter, but you need to stay strong," she emphasized as they reached Sam's room. "Stay strong. Can you do that?"

The answer was clearly a resounding 'no' but Brandi's terminology was different.

"Mary, it hurts…" she cried, sniffling loudly into her ear. "I don't remember how to breathe…"

"No-no-no; yes you do, yes you do," Mary shot that theory down at once. "You went to Lamaze; you're gonna be fine. Stay calm and don't freak out," she stressed. "You'll have a much harder time if you're all worked up, you understand?"

It wasn't the most comforting of phrases, but it was a fact. Holding onto the phone with her shoulder, she helped Marshall throw Sam's clothes into his suitcase, which he zipped once it was full and headed back into the hall. Sam himself was toddling around contentedly and was more than happy to follow Marshall to the guest room to pack their bags.

"It's early…" Brandi fretted, ignoring Mary's suggestion. "I'm not forty weeks. What's going to happen?"

"Listen," Mary interrupted, louder and more sternly this time. She stationed herself outside the guest room door to give Marshall more space to get everything hauled together.

"You'll be all right. I'm coming, okay? Hang in there," she adopted a more sympathetic tone as she said this.

Brandi was breathing deeply, attempting to pull it together but it was obvious she was still struggling – lost and alone – and Mary found herself wishing she could fix it. Right now.

"Listen Squish; I'll get out of here a lot faster if I can get off the phone and start packing," why she expected Brandi to appreciate rational thought at the moment was beyond her, but it was worth a try.

"Mary, I'm scared…" she whispered for about the fifth time, but her sister shook her head even if Brandi couldn't see her.

"Don't be scared," she stated, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Women do it every day. Including me, including you. Call the hospital and I will work on finding Peter. You can do that right?"

She'd have to.

"Mary, I need you," she declared baldly, without bravado.

"I know; I'm on my way. I'll call when I know something."

It was the only way they were going to end this and get things moving.

"Please hurry," her sister pleaded; all truth and emotions on the line.

"I'll do my best."

And Mary hung up. She thought the minute she'd let her go she'd be racing in to help Marshall, to say goodbye to Carolyn and get out the door as quickly as possible, but she was strangely numb with the absence of Brandi's hysteria in her ears. Her breath was loud inside her head; she could hear every gasp as she just stood there.

It was like her baby sister was really a baby all over again. She needed taking care of; she was frightened, little, alone, and lost. And Mary knew all she had to do was get to her as fast as she could.

Eventually, she forced herself to turn inside and ran smack into Marshall barreling out with the suitcase, Sam dancing between them.

"What's going on?" he asked, although clearly he already knew because he went on, "Is Brandi in labor?"

Mary nodded slowly, phone still in her palm where she'd hit the 'off' button.

"Her water break already?"

Another nod, blank and unfocused.

"Peter's in Santa Fe," she reported flatly. "Mom's in Roswell."

Marshall whistled, long and low, but her heart took flight with his next words.

"We better get going."

He understood – he _always_ understood. Mary had never thought of herself as a lucky person; she forever envisioned herself some cursed individual with perpetual and continual poor fortune. How she ended up with someone as great as Marshall, she didn't even know.

"Is she okay?" he prompted, clearly as worried as his wife was about the woman who had become his sister-in-law.

Mary just shrugged, not sure why she was being so distant. Marshall, determined to fix that, lowered his gaze to look into her eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Are _you_ okay?"

Mary wasn't. She didn't even know why. How could the switch have flipped so abruptly? She'd kept her head with Brandi but when left to her own devices she was a wreck. It was taking her back to her own days of pregnancy and her own labor with Sam. All she knew was that if she hadn't had Marshall on that fateful day, she would've most certainly flipped out. And that was Brandi's situation right now.

Before she could respond to his question, the sound of footsteps met their ears and Carolyn returned with a basket of laundry and a concerned look on her face.

"What happened?" she wanted to know.

Mary was unsure how much she'd heard, but clearly enough to know something wasn't right.

"Is something wrong? Back at home?"

Knowing Mary wasn't going to be able to relay the information, Marshall picked up the slack.

"Mary's sister's having her baby," he told her. "We're gonna have to cut the trip short so we can get back to her."

No details. And Carolyn didn't need them.

"Oh, of course!" she proclaimed, which made the ache recede in Mary's chest just slightly. "I hope you can get a flight. Come here Sammy; say goodbye to grandma…"

As Carolyn reached down to hug Sam and plant kiss after kiss on his rosy cheeks, Marshall put his arm around his wife and tilted his head against hers, knocking their temples together. He murmured in her ear, words of reassurance and comfort.

"She's gonna be all right," he promised. "You're doing everything you can. We'll be there soon."

For the third time, but with much more confidence, Mary nodded.

**A/N: Mary's back to being Mary – at least in part! I hope you all will approve of the way I continue to tell the remainder of the story, because it's a little different. Stay tuned!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Well, we're heading into flashback land. Hence the italics… **

XXX

The cacophony of getting to the airport was a blur; Marshall drove because Mary was on the phone practically every second of the trip.

First, she called Brandi back to find out where in Santa Fe Peter's meeting was – and she didn't know. After that she was pressing the digits to the Albuquerque dealership and she spoke to three airhead salesman who didn't have a clue where their boss had gone until she managed to get the assistant manager. Fortunately, she was able to relay the details of the conference with more efficiency than anyone thus far.

Unable to access the Internet on her Blackberry with the weather, Stan was her next call.

"What can I do for you inspector?" he sang merrily when he picked up the phone.

Marshall was speeding along the rain-washed highway, Sam playing with a ring toy in the backseat that jingled every time he shook it.

"Stan, I need your help."

With a snap of his head so sharp Mary was surprised he didn't get whiplash, Marshall turned to face her. Evidently, he wasn't used to Mary asking for assistance in any area of life.

"What's the problem?" Stan asked, obviously noticing the urgency in her voice.

"Brandi's gone into labor," she plunged on. "My mother's in Roswell and Peter's at some big wig congregation or convention or some such in Santa Fe. Marshall and I are on our way back but we can't get a hold of Peter. I got the information from the Albuquerque division but…"

"Say no more," Stan interrupted. "Let's hear it. I'll take care of it."

Bless Stan for wanting to get straight to the point. Mary finished rattling off every bit of information she possessed just as Marshall swung into the parking lot at the rental garage. Mary was still talking to Stan as she got out, grabbing the suitcases because Marshall was dealing with Sam – whining about the rain as he usually did.

Everything Stan was gathering about her brother-in-law took the trio through returning the rental car and Marshall fast-talking his way at the ticket counter. Only one word of his strong-armed discussion with the attendant made it to Mary's ears, and this was that there was a flight to Albuquerque leaving in an hour and a half. By the time they made it through security, they'd be just in time.

"That all you've got?" Mary asked Stan once they were through the barrier.

She'd had to hang up as they made their way through the metal detector. Marshall was a champ, taking care of himself and Sam while Mary made every arrangement she could. They sat side-by-side in lounge chairs now, waiting to board.

"Yeah, I'll keep you posted," Stan said. "The front desk said they'd call back when they've got him tracked down."

"What about Jinx?" she blundered on, careful not to forget.

Jinx and Brandi were much closer than Jinx and Mary, and Brandi – not to mention their mother – would be distraught over missing something of this magnitude. Old Jing-Jing needed to have her grandmotherly moment in the sun.

"Nothing there yet," Stan reported. "But I'll keep working on it. Sit tight kiddo; we'll reel 'em all in soon."

"Right…right…" Mary murmured distractedly, rubbing her temples with her free hand.

"I know it's tough, but be patient," Stan advised. "I'll text you updates; once you board you're gonna have to be careful not to let them see you using your phone."

Leave it to Stan to get around breaking the rules.

"Okay. Okay," Mary answered, again with the repeating.

There was a silence on both ends, Mary's mind spinning feverishly in every direction trying to think of something she might've forgotten. All that was invading was Brandi – Brandi by herself, Brandi alone, Brandi going through this all by her lonesome, something Mary certainly couldn't have done without the help of Marshall. There had to be something more she could do. Something – anything.

She heard Stan sigh in a resigned sort of way.

"Do you want me to go down there?" he asked.

Whatever she expected her boss to say, it definitely wasn't that. She was absolutely thrown-for-a-loop.

"To the hospital?" she stammered to clarify.

"Yeah," he said. "She's at Mesa Regional isn't she?"

This was highly unprecedented. If there was anyone on the planet more uncomfortable with pregnancy than Mary, it was Stan.

"No…" she breathed, knowing he had offered because it would make her feel better. "You can't snag Peter if you're all caught up in that."

"Right," Stan agreed. "Just thought I'd ask."

Mary's muscles tried to smile, but the message didn't quite make it to her brain.

"Thanks."

With this word came the announcement over the loudspeaker that their flight was getting ready to begin the boarding process. Mary had no idea how long she'd been talking; Marshall had been so quiet and Sam was about to fall asleep in his lap. If she wasn't careful she was going to shoot her battery down the drain.

"Sounds like you're about to takeoff," Stan remarked, obviously having heard through the speaker.

"Yeah," she replied. "Guess I'll see you soon."

"Copy that, inspector," he said out of habit, and he hung up.

Part of Mary wanted to talk to Marshall, wanted to tell him how frightfully worried she was about Brandi, but she wasn't sure how to get the words out the way she truly meant them. Being anxious when it came to her little sister was pretty much second nature, but she hadn't had a circumstance of this degree come up since she and Marshall had been married. She didn't know how to voice what she was really thinking.

It wasn't until they were already airborne, Mary checking hurriedly to see if any attendants were watching before she snuck glance after glance at her phone, that she resolved to settle down a little. Being such a basket case wasn't going to help anyone.

Leaning into her seat back, she sighed and turned her gaze to Sam who, in all the hustle-and-bustle, had crashed right out on Marshall's lap, breathing serenely through his nose. Marshall was watching her too; he reached over and put his hand on top of her knee, squeezing lightly.

"Take a breath, babe," he advised. "Relax."

These were completely contrary to words of wisdom, but Mary simply shook her head, not really fit to argue.

"Thank-you for handling him," she decided to say instead, inclining her head at the snoozing Sam. "It was a huge help."

"Not a problem," Marshall said casually. "You were otherwise occupied."

He couldn't help noticing the way she stared at Sam, a faraway look on her face. She was somewhere else besides Brandi, however she managed it.

"What are you thinking about?" he prodded.

A thousand things. And yet nothing at all.

"Brandi?" he supplied, still wondering if this was all, but he knew he should give her the opportunity to put up the façade.

"Just…" she whispered. "If _I'd_ been in her shoes…when Smush here decided to make his entrance…"

Marshall put warm pressure her knee again, sensing where this was headed.

"Takes you back, doesn't it?" he nodded his understanding. "I concede it was quite a night."

It definitely had been.

_Marshall was at home making dinner, waiting for Mary to get back from Santa Rosa. He was entirely against the idea of her taking such a drive in her condition, but she claimed she had to go – to give testimony. It was a hard pitch to argue with; having been there himself, but it hadn't stopped him from appealing to Stan to get it moved to a nearer city. No dice, their chief had said. Mary had to be in the box or she'd be in a jail cell._

_It was almost 8:00 PM by the time Mary finally walked through the door. The enchiladas Marshall had made in hopes of improving what promised to be a very surly mood were getting cold._

_He could tell in just one look she wasn't feeling well. She looked exhausted; her whole body slumped. She had become enormously rotund in the last couple weeks, ballooning at a truly alarming rate. From what she'd said that morning, her back ached, her feet hurt, and she could hardly walk without getting out of breath._

_She sighed and simply nodded her head at him in greeting._

"_Hey," he said as she made her way into the kitchen, dropping her satchel beside the couch. _

_He was going to ask how the trip had been, but it was a stupid question and was sure to garner a very sarcastic response so he kept quiet._

"_You want some dinner?" he invited with a wave of his hand. "I stuffed them full of cheese – Colby Jack to be precise. I know it's your favorite."_

_She smiled softly – tiredly – but also had a sad and despondent look in her eyes. She almost appeared disappointed._

"_Oh…" she finally spoke for the first time since she'd come in. "I'm not really hungry."_

_Mary not wanting to eat everything in sight was a rare occurrence indeed, especially in her current state. Marshall was hardly offended – merely curious._

"_Sorry you went to all this trouble," she murmured._

_An apology. Two atypical happenings in less than a minute. Full moon? Or…_

"_It's fine," he stepped over to her, big green eyes downcast away from him. "How you feeling?"_

_He had to ask – it was routine at this point._

"_I'm okay," she said so automatically Marshall wondered if she'd even bothered to listen to the question._

_Deciding she was so unobservant he could chance it, he snuck a quick look at her belly. He'd done the same thing that morning. She was definitely carrying lower – she had been since yesterday and even more so this evening. _

"_That drive had to be murder on your back," he remarked so she wouldn't see him peeking._

"_It was a bitch," she agreed. _

"_Well, you don't have to have dinner," he told her politely. "Can I get you something else?"_

_She shook her head, closing her eyes as she did so. Marshall saw her put a hand to her head, caressing her temples. He could practically feel the tension pounding beneath her fingertips._

"_I think I just…" she sighed and Marshall distinctly watched her right hand float off her head and onto her tummy. "I just need to lie down for a minute. I'll be all right."_

_Marshall wasn't convinced and didn't manage to stop himself, "You sure?"_

_He fully expected a smart remark, a smack on the head, an exasperated sigh, but none came. She just nodded, a soft smile playing behind her eyes rather than her lips._

"_Yeah," she promised. "I think I just…overdid it today," she admitted. "I'll lie down and feel better."_

"_Okay," he agreed, leaving it at that. "I'll join you in a second."_

_It sounded so-so nice to Mary, to have his long lean body pressed with hers, sheltering her from the aches and the hurt. She could've done it forever._

_And yet knew, very deep in the darkest recesses of her mind, that it wasn't going to be forever for just the two of them for much longer._

_To avoid voicing this aloud, she went to the fridge for water, despite Marshall's asking if he could get it. Once she had the bottle, she stopped halfway between to unscrew the cap. She was caught off guard when Marshall stepped up behind her, weaving his arms around her waist – or what used to be her waist. She grinned against her will as he spoke directly next to her ear._

"_You'll tell me if you need something," he said, not as though it were a question._

_Determined to keep him content, Mary nodded against him._

"_Sure Marshall." _

_She wanted to keep him behind her – an anchor, a lasso to the moon, nothing in the world more safe and sheltered. But she patted his hands, resting just below her belly, and he let go._

_For awhile it was steady going. Mary sat on one end of the couch, Marshall on the other. She swung her feet into his lap and he rubbed them for what seemed like hours. They chatted back and forth, idle conversation with no real meaning, Mary twirling a strand of hair around her finger with her eyes closed. Marshall waited it out, intuition screaming through him with every stroke of her toes. She was pausing every few minutes, exhaling out her nose. Every time she did this, her body went rigid. _

_He knew. He knew with more conviction than he ever had before. But found it highly likely if he let the cat out of the bag she would go off the deep end._

_So he waited._

_Mary's heartbeat was quickening with every pulse, every twist and strain of her insides. She wanted to tell Marshall, wanted to put it all on the floor but she didn't know how. She wanted more than anything to stay like this – just the pair of them – his rhythmic rubbing putting her into a trance. Despite her acceptance of becoming a mother, she knew one thing without a doubt she was going to miss. It was never going to be just the two of them ever again._

_So she waited._

_Until, right before ten o'clock, a pain so violent wrenched her abdomen and she couldn't hold it in any longer. Her feet fell from Marshall's grasp as she winced and doubled over; caressing the side of her belly in hopes that it would go away._

"_Hey…" Marshall sat up and leaned forward to try and catch her eye. "What? You okay?"_

_She nodded as she bit her lip but knew Marshall couldn't possibly be buying it. _

"_Breathe…" he instructed, rubbing her back even from the other side of her knees. "Deep breath…"_

_The aches fluttered and tapered away, Mary sat back up, slowly at first, leaning back into the throw pillows. Marshall was watching her with a very critical eye as she let out another puff of air, brushing her bangs away from her face._

_She could give a little – just a little._

"_Marshall, I really don't feel well," she informed him lamely, as though this were new information._

"_What's the matter?"_

_He was so-so sweet to play along. They'd entered into this relationship tentatively and Marshall had amused Mary's beats just right since the very beginning._

"_My stomach's all cramped up," she dived on foolishly. "It was probably that damn drive; it threw everything out of sync."_

_Or right in sync._

"_Is it bad?" Marshall asked, what he considered an idiotic question considering she'd just folded over but he hung on, wanting her to be the one to make the decision._

_Mary considered. She only just realized she was holding his hand. She must've grabbed it when the pain had struck._

"_Kind of," she admitted._

_Marshall decided he'd better press his luck here. Mary would forgive it. Someday._

"_Do I need to take you to the hospital?"_

_She was looking scared and uncertain; more so than Marshall had ever seen her and this made him feel slightly guilty for making such a rash choice of words._

_As it was, Mary just shook her head at his question._

_Marshall raised his eyebrows but resolved not to say anything else. He stood up and walked around to her head between the coffee table. He patted her hair, running his hand over it and she looked up at him, trusting him to do the right thing._

"_We can stay for a little while," he promised in a gentle voice._

_He knew it. She knew it. _

_But she wanted to hang on a little longer. Just a little longer._

"You were one stubborn old battleaxe," Marshall informed his wife fondly as she recounted the earlier throes of her own labor. "I was afraid I'd never get you out of the house."

"Who was the one with the bun in the oven?" Mary retorted, chewing on her thumbnail in her nervousness. "I knew what I was doing."

But she hadn't in the least and no amount of years between them could convince Marshall otherwise. She had been uncharacteristically kind and affectionate that balmy October night, holding onto him – his arms, his hands, his intellect and every phrase that poured from his mouth.

"Water under the bridge at this point," Marshall conceded. "It all came out in the wash. You'd do well to remember that," he shot her a significant look, referring to Brandi this time.

Mary exhaled again and nudged closer to him in her tiny seat, but then fidgeted awkwardly, so strung-out with being helpless she couldn't stand to stay stationed in her chair.

Instead, it just took her further and further back.

"_I'm gonna go clean up in the kitchen," Marshall informed Mary as he got up off the couch. _

_It was close to 11:30 now and even though he knew Mary must be spent from her state of being, not to mention her trip, he had a feeling she wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. With a pang, he knew if she'd gotten home sooner she might've been able to sneak in a little power nap. But it was too late for that now._

"_Okay with you?" he prompted when she didn't answer. _

_Her eyes were closed again. She merely nodded without looking at him. _

_As Marshall made his way into the kitchen, he had every intention of taking his time putting the enchiladas in the fridge, of scraping the dishes, to stretch as much mindless drivel out of it as possible. He'd been dutifully timing Mary from when she sucked in her breath and when she fell into gentle exhales again. He wasn't comfortable hanging out for much longer. _

_He was surprised to see Mary lift herself off the couch with a little support from the coffee table, but not a fan._

"_Where you going?" he asked, trying to stay casual._

"_Bathroom," she reported._

_Marshall nodded, understanding the motivation, and she lumbered her way back to use the one in her bedroom. _

_It was quiet for awhile, Marshall storing the Mexican in Tupperware and putting it in the fridge for later. He rinsed the dish he'd baked them in but decided the full-on wash could be postponed as well. He was bagging up the leftover shredded cheese when he heard the shout._

"_Jesus God!"_

_There was no hesitation whatsoever. He bolted, flat-out and in his socks no less – how he hadn't slipped and fallen on his face remained a mystery. His feet thudded on the floor, but something had to be distracting Mary because he was halfway there when she called his name._

"_Marshall!"_

_Back to the bedroom he ran to see Mary bent over, hands splayed on her bed and gasping at the ground._

"_Breathe…" he instructed when he reached her, curling his arm around her back and kneading her muscles tenderly. "Focus…deep breath. Quick inhale, steady exhale."_

_She'd never gone to Lamaze. She'd refused. Marshall had read the books. In case._

"_Marshall…" it was the whimper, the fear in her voice that made him ache for her._

"_You're all right," he promised, knowing she would be. "Hang tough."_

_She managed at least that through the full minute. When the contraction – there was no denying it now – passed its peak and faded away, the stiffness with which she'd been holding herself upright left her body. The result was that she trembled; not violently, but enough that Marshall took notice._

"_Sit down…" he coached, gripping her forearm firmly to guide her to the bed. "Have a seat."_

_He could see her fighting to stay in control as she looked up at him, but he'd granted her a lot this evening. Now was the moment to act._

"_Mare, we're gonna have to go," he stated evenly, hoping it sounded perfectly normal._

"_Go where?" she tried to snap with her usual snark, but he caught her voice wavering. _

_Marshall placed his hand on her leg, leaning down to peer directly into her eyes._

"_I think we've got an ETA, inspector," was his way of telling her. "I'd like a professional to make the call but…" he shrugged casually, about to go on but she stopped him._

"_You can't be sure…"_

"_Mary, I've been timing you," he interrupted, not going to engage in a battle of wills over this now that he'd made his choice._

"_Timing me do what?" she sounded more like herself now._

_He tossed her one of his better exasperated stares, but was careful not to rebut too much. He knew she was nervous._

"_Your contractions," he went on. "They've got a pattern. You are shifting pretty quick into five minutes apart, which means you're in active labor," he explained. "Ergo – it's time to head to the hospital."_

"_I don't want to go to the hospital," she argued as though they were talking about a trip to the grocery store._

"_Not subject to discussion," he kept his tone light, but firm. "I'll get your bag. You want to call your mom? Brandi?"_

_Mary didn't. She wanted to stay here. Here with Marshall and nobody else. She'd felt safe when they were pretending, but the way Marshall had thrown it so abruptly into high gear was scaring her. It couldn't be time yet. They'd only had three months together, just the two of them. She felt like she'd wasted so many years taking Marshall for granted and the last ninety days had seemed like something out of a dream – a fairytale fantasy. Their own world, their own language, not a care in the universe._

_And it was about to change forever._

_So engrossed, she didn't notice Marshall exit the room and return with the bag he'd packed for their excursion to the hospital. Mary had made him do it, adamant refusal. She was still sitting sedately. She didn't know what to say to get out of this. No words would do it._

_Soundlessly, Marshall extended his hand and waited for her to take it. Hesitantly, she curled her fingers into his and he tugged her upward. Even right beside him, she sighed, wondering if she could do this. Not just tonight – but the lifetime ahead._

_But only Marshall would look at just standing upright as an accomplishment. He pulled her in close, sideways for an embrace and kissed her temple. It wasn't smart. Mary feared she'd never pull away._

"_Atta girl," he murmured approvingly._

The couple had gone quiet, lost in their memories, Marshall knowing it was pointless to engage her in conversation when she was so antsy. She kept shifting in her seat – against the window, next to him, hand rumpling Sam's hair. They were well into the flight, but Mary had lost track of the time – minutes, hours, who knew how long they'd been aboard.

Glancing through the gap in the seats to the flight attendant, Mary whipped her phone out of her pocket for the hundredth time to check if there was news from Stan. A pile of texts was waiting, but she opened the first one which was not from Stan, but Brandi about twenty minutes before.

As the words left the screen, flowed into her mind, she let out a sigh so huge Marshall actually turned to look at her. Forgetting he could see, she fell forward onto her knees, burying her face in her hands.

"What?" Marshall prodded.

She shifted her face to his, still on her knees, hair tumbling in its curtain.

"Peter made it."

And Marshall sighed as well, relief flooding him. He patted Mary heartily on the back, the position so perfect. He could practically see the stress radiating off her.

"Well done, inspector."

Mary nodded mutely, hands clasped in front of her.

"She's okay," she whispered, more to herself than to Marshall and believing it more and more with every bob of her head. "She's gonna be okay."

**A/N: It was hard for me to figure out a way to tell Brandi's story since I didn't want to divert to Brandi herself, since this is a Mary/Marshall tale. So this is the best way I know how – watch Brandi's journey through Mary's own experience. The chapters are definitely longer from here to the end, but I hope that's not a bad thing LOL! Review if you have a minute!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So, about this chapter coming up. It's not graphic in the least, more suggestive I suppose. It's probably not even that, I just figure I should put in a little head's up in case it's unexpected. I felt like, to tell Mary's own story I needed to show the parts of her labor that would stick out to her – the difficult parts, the ones she felt like she couldn't jump over. There is one in this chapter as well as the next. Like I said, it's not at all gruesome it's just something that doesn't often come up in the tried-and-true labor and delivery stories, so bear in mind that Mary would probably really recall the stuff that makes her squirm LOL!**

XXX

By the time Mary and Marshall landed in New Mexico it was 4:30 in the afternoon, Sam was awake and fussing. Although the rush to get to the hospital was not as essential anymore, Mary couldn't help wanting to get there as soon as possible. She hadn't been able to get a hold of Peter since he'd arrived guessing that he, unlike her, had followed the rules and didn't have his phone on in the delivery room.

Marshall managed to convince her to go home for five minutes to drop off their luggage and grab some toys for Sam to play with if they were going to be spending a night in the hospital. Ordinarily, Mary never would've considered dragging him along but seeing as how their regular baby-sitter was indisposed at the moment, she didn't have much choice.

The trio hit the maternity ward by 5:15 and Mary set out demanding answers from the receptionist.

"Brandi Alpert," she told her when they reached the desk, the different surname still feeling odd on her tongue. "Can you tell me what room she's in?"

"Are you family?" the woman wanted to know. Mary snuck a look at her nametag – Candy.

"Yes, I'm her sister," Mary reported, harassed and worn out from rushing all over the place. She felt Marshall, who was holding onto a very restless Sam; place his hand on her back.

The receptionist opened her mouth to respond, "Well, I'll need some kind of identification before I…"

"For Christ's sake!" Mary breathed.

"Easy…" Marshall murmured.

Yanking the five point star off her belt, she flashed it in Candy's face, trying to find every excuse in the world not to make fun of that name.

"Marshal Shannon," she declared, the emblem glinting under the fluorescent lights. "_Now_ can we get a room number?"

Annoyed but also clearly flustered, the woman relayed the information to Mary but it was Marshall who thanked her, for his bride was already huffing off to their desired destination.

To his surprise, however, she didn't go barreling in on Brandi but dropped their jackets and the diaper bag across two chairs and a couch in the waiting room down the hall from all the birthing rooms. Fortunately, they had the area to themselves so Marshall deposited Sam on the floor and he toddled off to a coffee table filled with old, out-of-date magazines.

He took a seat next to Mary, arm around the back of her chair. He thought she might've calmed down now that they were here, but no such luck.

"You're not gonna go in to see her?" he asked.

She didn't need to, necessarily, especially now that Peter was here. But he kind of thought she wanted to, judging by her attitude.

"No," she shook her head. "I'll wait for Peter to give us an update. I don't even know…how long she's got to go."

Marshall was about to ask why she was so jittery, when she bowled him over with another astonishing remark.

"I hope Jinx gets here soon."

Her husband was likely not adept at hiding that he was floored. Mary loved Jinx but it was pretty unprecedented for her to really…_wish_ her anywhere. Especially when the situation was stressful.

"I wonder if Stan managed to get a hold of her. I should call him and ask…"

She was about to pull the Blackberry from her pocket when Marshall stopped her, determined to get a handle on this mood she was in.

"Whoa-whoa, wait a minute. Hang on a second," he transferred his hand on top of hers, preventing her from using the buttons. "Talk to me."

"About what?" she wanted to know, wrenching her hand free to dial.

"I'm worried about you; you seem really anxious," he observed.

"Shouldn't I be?" she asked, sounding irritated now.

"At first, yeah," he nodded with sincerity. "Absolutely," he added for good measure. "But we're all good now. You can slow down. You don't _have_ to do everything, you know."

Mary was clearly thrown by the suggestion, but shook her head as though she knew as much all along.

"I know that," she tried to sound certain.

"Then what's the problem?" he posed, wanting to get to the bottom of it.

"There isn't one," she claimed. "Just that my mother will flip out if she's not here and never let me forget it, so I'd like to get her in attendance so I don't have to deal with that song and dance for the next twenty years."

"That's not it," Marshall decided. It might be, but only partially.

"Then what is it, smart ass?" she snapped just as Sam wandered by, a magazine detailing Bill Clinton in his fingers. He'd chewed the corner already, ripped off the bottom half of the cover.

"Smar'-ass," he babbled to himself.

Oops.

Ignoring the slip, Marshall plowed on. One problem at a time.

"Mare, listen to me," he began. "You are a _good sister._ Brandi adores you," he wanted that much known. "But this is feeling a lot like the days of bailing Brandi out of jail and saving her butt and that's not what this is. Brandi's a grown-up. She learned to take care of herself because you taught her how."

Admittedly, Mary was feeling a little guilty at this revelation, of morphing back into her former self so easily when Brandi hadn't even done anything wrong – for not having the faith that she should. But underneath, it was about more than that. And if she could tell anyone, she could tell Marshall.

"I just…" she whispered, throwing another look at Sam as she remembered. "Marshall…"

It came back so easily. Not bits and pieces, but the full-on, all-out experience.

"I had such a hard time," she murmured, ashamed, as she looked at her son. "And if I had so much trouble, then Brandi…"

"Babe, you were older than Brandi when you had Sam," he reminded her. "You were over forty; the risks associated are much greater…"

"Marshall, it wasn't just that and you know it…"

"It was different all around," he softened as he realized the crux of the matter, rubbing her leg gently to show he was getting it. "Yours was an unexpected pregnancy, you hadn't been to any kind of breathing classes…"

Still, he felt a certain stipulation needed to be added to everything he was doling out here.

"But you still did great," he assured her. "Everything was fine. You were much too hard on yourself when you delivered. Not having control _isn't_ failing," he emphasized, practically his mantra when it came to Mary.

She crossed her arms, peering low and glaring at him slightly, but he pressed on.

"I imagine this is not something you think earns bragging rights, but you were sweeter than I'd ever seen you that evening," the memory seemed to please him. "A total pro."

"Yeah, right," she finally scoffed, Marshall surprised he hadn't heard as much before now.

Seeing that his partner was not buying into this entirely, he patted the leg his hand was already resting on.

"I get that you're worried, but Brandi's tough. If you can do it, she can too," he said delicately.

Mary wondered how she would've fared with that logic eighteen months ago.

_The first hurdle came at around 1:30 in the morning about an hour, give or take, since Mary had been admitted. It was Marshall who had called Jinx, Brandi, Peter, even Stan. They were all stationed in the waiting room at Mary's request._

_She was contracting pretty rapidly at steady three to four minute intervals and despite Marshall's concern, she'd refused the epidural. It was just like her not to be a slave to the treats for the weak – in her eyes – but he worried if she'd regret it later. _

_He sat loyally at her bedside, clutching her hand, keeping up a steady stream of encouragement both in words and in gestures – rubbing her back, her shoulder, untangling her hair. For someone like Mary, who usually did not like people touching her, this was paramount._

"_Good…good…" Marshall whispered as she made it through another contraction just as Doctor Reese entered to see how things were going._

"_That one didn't seem as bad as the last one," he observed, tucking the stray hairs behind her ears._

_Mary didn't respond. Marshall didn't expect her to. _

_She continued to breathe in low bursts through the off time while Doctor Reese studied the printout spooling from the heart monitor as well as the one that kept track of the contractions. Marshall had his eye on her and she didn't seem alarmed, but marginally concerned._

"_How we doing in here?" she asked while she calculated. "You holding up okay Mary?"_

"_Would it matter if I wasn't?" she finally spoke, but didn't look up, both hands on either side of her belly._

_Evidently Doctor Reese wasn't much for small talk because whatever the printouts had told her meant she needed to kick it up a notch._

"_Mary, you're progressing a lot faster than I would've anticipated," she revealed. _

"_What does that mean?" Marshall asked immediately before Mary could pounce on it. "Faster than you anticipated?"_

"_Well you were only at three centimeters when you were admitted but considering the rate of your contractions, I would venture you've dilated quite a bit since then," she spoke directly to Mary even though it was Marshall who had asked the question. She was looking up now, gaze darting from her doctor and back to Marshall on the other side._

"_But this is her first pregnancy," Marshall reminded her. "And I've read that, typically, labor is pretty lengthy on the first go around…"_

"_Typically, that's true," Doctor Reese smiled as she used his own wording. "But there are exceptions to every rule."_

_Leave it to Mary to be the one to stand out._

_Mary wanted to ask what the point of all this conversation was about unless something was going to happen, when she got her answer._

"_I'm gonna need to check you to see how far you've come."_

_No. No-no-no-no. That was the only word that made it into Mary's mind. She was sick – sick of not being able to stay in control and she'd kept it at bay as long as possible. She did not want to be 'checked' in any way, shape, or form. Fingers where they didn't belong. It was embarrassing, especially with Marshall sitting beside her._

_Not to mention, it would hurt, especially since she hadn't had anything for the pain. _

"_No…come on…" it was actually three words that escaped in an exhausted sigh as her head fell back against the pillows._

_Marshall tried to be of help as the doctor snapped on her gloves and wheeled a stool over to sit on._

"_How long will it take?"_

"_Less than a minute," Doctor Reese said. "But I'd like to get it in before the next contraction."_

_Marshall wasn't sure this was going to happen but was ready to appeal to Mary. Unfortunately, she was already shaking her head, determined not to be prodded another time. _

"_No," she said again with more force behind it, sitting up as to be taken more seriously. "Forget it. He'll come when he's gonna come; I don't see why we have to monitor every single second – its ridiculous!" her voice rose._

_Why this thing, this little thing, that was nothing compared to what lay behind or ahead, was bothering her so much she wasn't sure. Maybe because it was just one _more_ thing, one more instance she was powerless to stop._

"_Mare, it'll be quick…" he reinforced. "Less than a minute."_

"_I don't care!" she was shouting now. "I don't care; I'm not doing it!"_

_In a last ditch attempt to salvage the idea, she clamped her legs together beneath the bedcovers. They couldn't do it if they couldn't get at her. _

_Marshall was anxious about her being so worked up and thought maybe if he could get her alone for a second she'd calm down. Unfortunately, this theory went out the window when she suffered another contraction, nails biting into his palm._

"_Shit…" she cursed through gritted teeth as the wave crashed her, a ring of fire, white-hot and flaming through her abdomen._

"_Breathe in…" Marshall coached, mimicking the sound. "And out…"_

_Her head was spinning; she couldn't wrap her mind around the pain. It had taken hold of her, forced her out of herself and she was losing her grip. If she couldn't do this, could she be the mother this kid needed when he came out?_

_Doctor Reese wasted no time once the contraction siphoned off. She rolled her stool to the end of the bed, completely ignoring Mary's wishes. Mary herself cast an anguished look at Marshall, wanting him to do something, wanting him to make it better but he couldn't._

"_I'm gonna rest you on your back Mary so I can get a good look…" she instructed._

_Well, who would want to stand in the way of _that_?_

_This presented the first set of problems as the bed reclined; Mary's back stabbed in protest lying flat, like knives slicing through every inch of her muscles. She bit her lip and covered her eyes with her hand, but Marshall pulled it away._

_He was calm and even, face completely impassive as it floated above hers._

"_You're fine," he said. "Stay strong."_

_What if she couldn't? What then?_

_He crouched down beside her, head at an awkward angle now due to the position of the bed._

"_You know what I was thinking about?" Marshall posed conversationally._

_Unsure as to why he was asking, Mary shook her head._

"_Hmm, mmm," she hummed to accompany it. _

"_Last week I asked Stan if he wanted to be here when you went into labor…"_

"_Really?" she whispered._

"_Yeah," Marshall chuckled. "You know he's quite the expert on pregnancy."_

"_Right," Mary wanted to sound disbelieving but it didn't quite come through._

"_Relax and take a deep breath Mary…"_

_Wait, what? What? She hadn't been listening._

"_What'd he say?" she tried to ignore the instruction, but it nagged in the back of her mind._

"_He said he'd be in the waiting room handing out cigars," Marshall supplied with a sweet grin._

"_Sounds like Stan…" she agreed. "What next? He…"_

_But then it struck – so unexpected was the flare she cried out childishly and grabbed Marshall's hand, unable to stop the tears from springing to her eyes._

"_Okay…okay…" he said gently, hanging tight to her palm while caressing the top with his free hand. "Hang tight; it'll be over soon…"_

_Well, his little distraction had worked momentarily. He really didn't think the discomfort would be so bad it would make her cry. Maybe it was the shock._

"_All right Mary; good deal…" Doctor Reese reported when she'd finished, putting the bed back into its upright position. _

_She was breathing hard and trembling, just as she had been after the first real contraction. It was all-consuming._

"_You're between five and six centimeters already," she told them as though this were exciting. "Ten's not far away."_

_Seeing her patient, all welled-up and confused and Marshall looking stunned things had progressed so quickly, the woman had the sense to take the hint._

"_I'll be back in a little while."_

"_Thank-you," Marshall said politely. _

_He waited until he was sure she was gone before turning to Mary. He had every intention of pulling her in close, of trying his damdest to take away the hurt, but to his utter astonishment, she beat him to it. The lightest of tears tracking her cheeks, she reached out to take him in her arms._

_In a voice of forced calm she said, "Can I hug you?"_

_The question broke Marshall's heart for more reasons than the fact that she shouldn't have to ask permission. It took him back to three months before when he'd inquired to her after his dad had died. Consent to let yourself be loved – the green light to break apart. _

"_I really wish you would," was his answer, and that was all the coaching she needed, Marshall knowing if she was initiating the contact she must really be upset. Without further ado, he folded her into his arms, head on his shoulder._

_He could hear her crying – softly, but scared and he patted her back._

"_Don't cry," he encouraged, knowing the tears would make her angry later. "You did great."_

_He heard her gentle weeping behind him as he held her, warm and soft in his embrace. It might not be just the two of them for much longer, but a pair was all they had right now._

"Why do they do those cervical exams anyway?" Mary asked out of the blue as though she and Marshall had been discussing it.

He looked up from his spot on the floor where he was playing with Sam and his horses.

"You know why," he answered. "Don't you remember?"

"Kind of hard to forget," she scoffed, still pondering her own experience. "I just think it's a load of crap I mean, who really needs to know…"

But her words hit a wall when footsteps met their ears. Peter had finally come out, looking harried but relatively calm, wearing a pair of blue scrubs over his clothes. Mary stood at once and Marshall did the same, lifting Sam off the floor so he wouldn't escape.

Oh, you guys are here…" Peter breathed, sounding infinitely grateful and he actually hugged Mary, which she was not expecting. He was a little limp in her grasp and she patted his back roughly before letting him go.

"Brandi will be thrilled," he said with a weak smile. "It was so nice of you to fly back."

"Of course," Marshall said. "Wouldn't miss it."

"How is she?" Mary almost spoke over her husband, trying not to seem too alarmed. She thought she passed it off pretty well.

"Good," Peter nodded. "She's good. Still a ways to go yet."

"To be expected," Marshall voiced and Mary had a very shrewd idea what he was remembering also as he clapped Peter on the shoulder.

"Any word on Jinx?" he asked, appealing to both of them with a flicker of his eyes.

"No," Mary shook her head. "But I'll call Stan again; see what he's found out."

"Thank-you," her brother-in-law said. "For everything. I would've missed the whole thing if it wasn't for you."

Faintly embarrassed by the gratitude, Mary just shook her head.

"Doesn't look like you would've missed anything yet, from the sound of it," she reminded him. "But if I were you I'd get back in there. Brandi's likely to tear a wall down if you're gone too long."

"Right," Peter gave a very shaky laugh. "I'll keep you posted; come back out when I can."

"Whenever," Marshall shrugged casually. "Worry about Brandi."

It was those words that convinced Mary she wasn't the only one having flashbacks tonight.

**A/N: Likely made way too big a deal in the intro, but whatever! Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate! I will probably still post tomorrow since the story's written and it's easy to put up. Have a great holiday!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Merry Christmas! I told you I would likely still post – easy to do when the story is already written!**

XXX

It was almost eight o'clock before Jinx finally arrived, which meant it had been nearly twelve hours since Brandi had called Mary crying on the phone. Marshall was dozing lightly in one of the many uncomfortable chairs while Mary did a block puzzle with Sam on the floor.

Jinx burst into the room, wearing a sad-looking pair of jeans with holes in them and a pink top. Her hair was in a messy bun, Mary guessed from her earlier day of dancing.

"Oh Mary, darling…" she gushed when she saw that she and Marshall were already there.

Leaving Sam to his own devices for a moment, Mary stood up to greet her mother, who promptly threw her arms around her.

"Mom-mom, come on…" she wiggled away, trying not to tread on Sam. "She's having a baby, not open heart surgery."

Jinx huffed a dramatic sigh and even though Mary wished to downplay the circumstances, curiosity got the better of her wondering where she'd got to until now.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked, but without malice. "They don't have phones in Roswell? The aliens screw with your signal?"

"If you must know," Jinx flopped down in the chair beside Marshall as he came to, rubbing his eyes from sleep. "I didn't hear from Stan until three o'clock. I had my phone off while the girls were performing and by the time I knew what was going on…"

She shrugged, obviously goaded by the whole slew of events, but softened when Sam pushed himself up and toddled over, hands on her knees.

"Jing-Jing, horse?" he held up his brown one for her to see.

"He's a beautiful horse, honey," she placated him with her lipstick-red smile. "We'll have to give him a name one of these days."

Sam whined, clearly not getting his message across.

"No," he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "Horse ride! Horse ride!"

Jinx flashed Mary a look, "What's he talking about? Do you know?"

"Later," Mary grumbled. "Get back to where you managed to be for the past five hours."

In the back of her mind, Mary knew she was doing the same thing with Jinx that she had done with Brandi – believing the worst, feeling like she had to step in and save the day. Visions of earlier days with her mother of skipping out on work, appointments, anything important to go get sloshed at some bar ran like a film reel through her mind. Mentally, she talked herself off that ledge. It wasn't like that anymore.

"I couldn't just leave the girls," she explained. "Not when their parents didn't expect them back here until almost seven. I had to call everyone, make arrangements, and then the bus brought us back. It's two and a half hours from Roswell; you know that."

Mary did know that, and she felt badly for being so snappish with Jinx. From the sound of it, she'd done everything she could to get here as quickly as possible. Just as Mary had.

Resigned, she sat back on the floor and called Sam over.

"Sam…" she reached out and fingered the back of his shirt. "Come here; let's finish the puzzle."

Seeing that his grandmother was not going to make sense of his thrilling tale of riding horseback, he ambled back to Mary and plopped on the floor across from her.

"So how is Brandi?" Jinx continued, first looking at Mary and then at Marshall who was awake but slumped pretty low in his chair.

"So far so good," Marshall reported. "Just long."

"Well, it's her first," Jinx waved that comment away with a swipe of her hand.

Mary wanted to remind her this was not the case with all women but kept silent, handing Sam jigsaw pieces of fire trucks and police cars for him to place in the board.

"Has Peter been out in awhile?" her mother wanted to know.

"Not since six or so," Marshall was the one who responded yet again. "She was only dilated five centimeters then."

Torturous, Mary decided. It was bizarre – truly and utterly bizarre – for Brandi to have the long labor and Mary the one that passed at what seemed like lightning speed. Sam had seemed to crown so fast she hadn't time to take it all in.

_She'd started shaking just before three in the morning. Not frightened quivers either, but truly violent shuddering which made no sense since she was roasting and sweaty all over. Marshall had assured her it was normal and even went as far as trying to sunny it up – she was rapidly making headway into something called the transition phase which meant the light could be seen at the end of the tunnel._

_She'd thrown up at 3:30. And then her water broke._

_The way Marshall was chattering, she knew what all the fluid was about but it still made her feel stupid, like she'd wet her pants. Not to mention, it added to all the other unpleasant sensations she was experiencing when the nurses made her stand up to change the sheets._

_She was back in bed as quickly as they allowed, but she was scared. Marshall seemed fine, even bolstered by the fact that all of these horrific things were happening to her, but she didn't understand it at all. What was happening? _

_As it was, she couldn't even _ask_ Marshall what was wrong because she was contracting at a truly alarming rate; there was no space in-between, no time for her to grab a breath of air. She was going to faint; she was going to pass out. She wasn't going to make it._

"_Marshall, I'm sorry…" she managed after she'd been sick a second time into that wretched bin over the side of the bed._

_Humiliated, along with everything else._

"_Don't be sorry," he said, so calmly it was as though they were discussing the weather. "Just focus. Focus on you – forget me."_

_She couldn't do that. It was the only thing keeping her going._

"_You want to give me a good smack? Maybe pull my hair?" he offered with a teasing grin. "Might make you feel better."_

_No, it wouldn't. But she admired him for trying and smiled weakly through the tears threatening to spill over._

_Their conversation was cut short by the onslaught of contractions – two for every one – and she had to pool all of her strength into just getting through it. When it clobbered her, it thumped her hard. She wanted Marshall; she wanted _all_ of him. She held him near, head buried inside his chest, gripping him close to her, nails digging into his back as she battled._

_Marshall was surprised, knowing from what he'd read about this part of labor that a lot of women couldn't stand to be touched. Given Mary's usual aversion to it, he expected as much but it seemed she'd gone in the other direction._

_He tried to lock her in, tried to make her feel like there was no one else with them even though the room was fast-filling with nurse after nurse for the main event. _

"_You're almost there…" he rested his chin on her head as he clutched her, letting her squeeze as tight as she wanted. "You're almost there…you're gonna make it…"_

_She shook her head beneath him, breathing so fast and hurriedly she was starting to feel dizzy._

_It was several seconds before she could speak, and it was pinched and tight against the pain and the panting._

"_What's going on?"_

_Marshall could tell, even in the shortness of her speech that she was frightened and if she'd worked this hard to utter the words, she must really want to know._

_In an instant, he rattled off everything he could think of._

"_You're in transition; it's the toughest part of labor," he rocked her back and forth as he said this, hearing her whimper through a breath. She was still trembling so fiercely Marshall could barely hold onto her, but wasn't about relinquish his contact. _

"_The shaking and the throwing up is totally routine; it doesn't mean you're weak or frail or that there's anything wrong with you," he wanted that much to be clear._

"_Your body's really rocking trying to get to the next level. But it knows what it's doing," he explained. "And it's not gonna last. You're gonna be through it before you know it."_

_Mary didn't believe that. She felt trapped and confined and the pain was overwhelming – never-ending and long. She was trying to shut it away by burrowing so closely into Marshall but the shaking was really preventing her from getting a grip. Just when she thought she might have half a second of relief, it peaked all over again and she was so frustrated she screamed, tone echoing loudly around the room._

"_Marshall, don't let go of me," she begged, knowing if he did she would really lose her cool._

"_I won't," he promised. "Do whatever you have to do."_

_Whatever she had to do included fisting his shirt in her hands, wrinkled and taut at his neck. She kept her eyes shut even after she pulled back slightly, still clutching the fabric as Marshall sat in the chair. Her face was shiny with sweat; her hair damp._

_When the breathing turned to low groans and moaning, he became a little concerned._

_"What's going on?" he asked as gently as he could. "Can you tell me?" he prompted. And then, "Take your time."_

_A few exhales later, "He's on his way."_

_Marshall had thought so. Standing again, he let her head rest in his chest, as she'd been doing before and rubbed her back while he heard the same noises deep in her throat._

"_He's moving down," Marshall detailed, the very idea putting a lump in his throat. "It's gonna be hard, but you're gonna need to try and keep him in until they give us the green light," he went on, trying not to show that it was difficult for him to give up this information. It wouldn't make her happy._

"_Marshall, I really…"_

_She couldn't continue and merely groaned again, her head spinning round and round. It was going to overpower her. She wasn't going to be able to stop it._

"_I know. I know," he finished for her, holding her as close as he could. "Wait it out. Blow – breathe hard."_

_She couldn't do it. She couldn't do it. It was too much – all-consuming, fervent, and uncontrollable. She longed to say this to Marshall, to say that she was throwing in the towel but it made her a failure. She couldn't fail him – or her son. Unfortunately, this was another instance she couldn't seem to stop._

"_I don't want to…" she gasped._

_She fully expected Marshall to talk her off that ledge, but beneath everything that was churning against her – inside and out – came his voice, one word only._

"_Okay."_

_So unexpected was the allowance, she found herself wrapping her mind around that and strangely, it drove her through._

_Even so, it was the longest thirty minutes of Marshall's life, which only had him wondering what it was doing to Mary. When things finally slowed down and he thought it was safe to pull away, he kissed her hair and asked one of the nurses to get him a washcloth. She abided and returned within a matter of moments; she handed the soaking fabric to Marshall._

"_I'm gonna put this on your head," he told her before he proceeded. "Lie down for a minute; catch your breath."_

_Blindly, she obeyed. Marshall knew she was exhausted and when he used the washcloth to mop up all the sweat from her forehead, she closed her eyes as though she were drinking it in. He let it come to rest there and resumed his seat._

_When her eyes flickered open, they were swimmy with unshed tears, their beautiful green sparkling against the wetness._

"_You all right?" Marshall asked, giving her hand a quick pulse with his own._

_She gulped and hummed, "Mmm hmm."_

_How did Marshall manage to sit there so sedately, so unaffected by this whole ordeal as though they'd merely had a bad day with some stupid witness? Like there wasn't a person threatening to fall out of her at any minute. _

_She'd gone quiet in the break her body had blissfully allowed her, but something in Marshall wanted to keep her talking, even marginally._

"_I wonder how Jinx fared when you decided to make your entrance," he mused, somewhat poorly. "Something tells me you didn't come quietly."_

_Mary was smiling underneath, even if she couldn't manage it on the outside._

"_Mom told me after I showed up…" she swallowed, pausing to take a breath, not knowing speaking took this much effort. "Someone went out to tell my dad and he bought everyone in the waiting room drinks with the money he'd got playing Blackjack two days before at the local dive."_

_Marshall chuckled, part of him wondering why she was sharing this, but was pretty sure he understood. She blinked slowly; face still lopsided in trying to keep the washcloth from tipping as she leaned on her side, shifting uncomfortably. He was pretty sure he understood that too._

"_An excited man," he finally replied. _

"_Well, the waiting room only had two people in it," Mary went on with a light, bitter laugh of her own. "A Catholic nun and some other poor bastard waiting for his kid to hurry up. So it was really just one drink."_

_Marshall managed a smirk he gathered looked more like a grimace. Mary looked down, casting her eyes away from him like she was sad._

_In the softest of whispers, "I wish he were here Marshall."_

_She didn't have the faintest idea what made her say it, whether she even meant it. He didn't say anything back, but reached out and adjusted the fabric lying across her forehead, picking it up to dab some of the stray beads away._

"_You are a champ, you know that?" was his response. "I'm proud of you."_

_Mary swallowed as she looked at him, the assault of emotions taking over, forgetting James almost as quickly as he'd invaded. _

"_I'm proud of you too," she said._

_Marshall was touched, his heart wavering on the edge of breaking. _

"_You don't have to say that," he shook his head._

"_I want to," she interrupted. "I don't say it as much as I should."_

"_You picked a hell of a time," Marshall remarked._

"_Well…" she murmured, wondering if she could say what she was thinking, if there was time enough or space enough. If Marshall would understand._

_Foolish question._

"_In case…"_

"_No," Marshall said sharply, leaning in and knowing this was brought on by fear, the horror and havoc just wreaked on her body. "No, 'in case.' Everything's going just like it's supposed to. You know that."_

_Mary didn't know that. She knew something wasn't right._

Both Jinx and Marshall fell asleep just before midnight. Mary, who couldn't have slept even if she'd wanted to, stayed up with Sam whose internal clock was all out-of-whack thanks to the plane ride and uncharacteristic time of his nap.

All things considered though, he was in a very sweet mood. Mary managed to get him to sit on the one couch instead of the floor and they rolled a ball back and forth from end-to-end. His coordination wasn't bad and the ball rarely slipped over the side. The first time it did, he thought it was funny and turned to Mary to grin as though she'd done it on purpose.

"Look at you, clumsy," she teased. Extending her hands, she grabbed him around the middle and set him on the floor. "Go get it pal."

He ran off, his shoes making a clip-clop noise on the linoleum in the otherwise silent waiting room. The ball was resting against the desk of the nurse's station across the room. Watching him retrieve his toy, she was surprised to see another pair of shoes come around the corner.

"Hello handsome…" Stan said in a low voice, bending to peer at the little boy.

"'Tan!" Sam squealed, leaving the's' off. The way he vocalized now after his expedition on the horse was incredible.

"Where's your mama?" the older man asked as he pulled the little boy from the floor and into his waiting arms.

"Mama-mama…" Sam pointed at the mention of the word, turning the ball round-and-round in his fingers.

Mary stood, adjusting her top from being curled up on the couch and walked to greet her boss.

"Evening inspector," he whispered, seeing Jinx and Marshall crashed out in their respective chairs.

"Hey," she replied. "What are you doing here? Something come up at work?"

"No," he answered smoothly. "Just wanted to see what was going on. How's Brandi?"

"Still waiting," Mary replied with a sigh, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

"Too bad you weren't that lucky," Stan remarked with a chuckle.

He'd been thinking about it too.

"It wasn't such a big deal," Mary shrugged. "I just made it into one."

Stan wasn't sure how to answer that so he rubbed Sam's back as the little one showed him his ball, chattering about something Mary didn't quite catch.

"You been okay?" he finally asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Mary furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"I just thought…" Sam fidgeted before Stan could continue and he put him to the floor. "This…on top of your dad…"

The thought was startling. Truthfully, Mary hadn't even spared a thought for James since she'd heard from Brandi that morning. It seemed distant now, from another lifetime. Brandi was in the here and now and James wasn't. She couldn't remember the last time he had been.

But even as it came back, it was almost as though she forced the sadness to creep in. There was no reason for it. Stan had the grace to look ashamed and it was his turn to put his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry kiddo," he said in a small voice. "Didn't mean to bring up a sore subject."

Mary was about to tell him not to worry about it when Peter returned to the scene and Mary knew in an instant this was not the typical update he had been bringing them every two hours. Could it be?

"Hey…!" he ran in, breathless and hushed as he caught sight of Marshall and Jinx.

"What's up?" Mary prompted.

Her heart picked up speed.

"Brandi's at ten centimeters…!" he practically exploded with the information in trying not to wake the other two, which Mary found pointless. They were most definitely going to be roused within minutes due to this monumental moment.

"You idiot!" Mary answered, half-joking half-serious. "What are you doing out _here_? Get back to Brandi!"

"She wanted me to tell you!" Peter said, not deterred in the least. "Will you let Jinx know?"

"Yes, absolutely," Mary nodded.

"Good luck, man," Stan cut in.

"Okay…!" was all Peter managed before he spiraled back the direction he had come, practically tripping over his own feet.

Mary wanted to say something, wanted to explain why her rapidly-beating heart was now in her throat but she'd never been good with words. All she knew she was Peter was heading down that hall and Brandi was about to…

"Peter!" she called to his retreating back.

He turned, waiting expectantly for what she wanted known. She fumbled slightly, knowing she'd have to hurry; knowing now was not the time to fret over phases.

"Tell her…"

What? Good luck? Best wishes? Hang in there? What?

"Tell her I love her."

Peter actually smiled, knowing for Mary to say it aloud was a big deal indeed. She didn't want this to be about her, but she couldn't help feeling grateful he'd realized that.

"Thanks Mary."

_She pushed for forty minutes before anything of consequence happened. She was starting to feel desperate; the apprehension in her gut at knowing something had gone wrong more heightened than ever. Should she feel this dizzy, this disoriented? Everything felt fuzzy and foggy even though she was trying so hard to end it._

"_You're doing really well," Marshall continued to assure her even though this did not feel true to her at all. "You're doing a great job…"_

_His stance never wavered – one hand in hers, the other rubbing her back which was aching fit to burst. _

"_Marshall, I don't feel good…" she managed to get out between contractions, knowing she was going to have to tell him before she fainted._

"_What?" bless him for taking her seriously. "What do you mean you don't feel good; what's wrong?"_

"_I'm dizzy," she breathed._

_Before Marshall could get a read on this, it was time to push again. Although Mary hadn't been given much direction up to this point, evidently Doctor Reese was somewhat discouraged by the lack of progress and spoke up._

"_All right Mary, here we go…" she said. "Push through this contraction and then we might try another position; see if it helps things along…"_

_All Mary knew was that she didn't want to move – back, side, floor, ceiling, she didn't want to move. She wasn't even sure she could wrap her brain around pushing for what seemed like the thousandth time._

"_Come on…" Marshall spurred on, helping her to sit up a little more. "You can do it; I know you can do it…"_

_She pushed for about four of her usual ten seconds before one of the monitors went off with a flurry of beeping. Marshall jumped and whirled around to see what was going on. The noise distracted Mary to the point where she quit pushing._

"_What is that?" Marshall demanded so Mary wouldn't have to expand the energy._

"_What's wrong?" she said anyway, all strung-out and gasping._

_It only took them seconds to figure out the problem, but Marshall could've sworn hours had gone by._

"_Mary, I'd like to say this gracefully but we're gonna have to pick things up here," Doctor Reese reported. "The baby's heart rate is dropping; we need to get him out."_

"_Is that why she's dizzy?" Marshall asked at once before he could even begin to spin around what she had just said. Mary's hand had gone limp in his own._

_With another glance at the monitors by both Doctor Reese and the nurses, the next bit of unsettling information was revealed._

"_Her blood pressure's starting to spike," the woman told him, clearly trying to keep a level head._

_Marshall was horrified. Even as much as he feared for the life of this unborn child, this boy who was – for all intents and purposes – going to be his son, right now his concern was the breathing life beside him. And it was her for whom he spoke up._

"_Is she gonna be all right?"_

_Doctor Reese flashed him the briefest of looks before answering._

"_Marshall, the danger's not to her; it's to the baby," were her less-than-reassuring words, spoken in an undertone. "So long as…"_

"_Why is this happening?" he could not keep himself from asking, speaking right over her. Marshall wasn't one to place blame, but there had to be a fault here somewhere. Mary had done everything in her power and it wasn't working out the way it was supposed to. Where had they gone wrong?_

"_Marshall, I don't know," she said firmly, clearly understanding his position but not wanting to waste the time beating it to death. "Any number of reasons. The quick progression of her labor could've been more than her body was prepared to handle. She's at advanced maternal age…"_

_This was too much for him. They could not pretend Mary was some fragile flower, someone who needed coddling, who could not cope with the intensity._

"_She's a US Marshal; there's nothing wrong with her physical condition!" he shouted, much louder than he meant to._

"_Marshall, stop it," the doctor told him sternly. "The minute he's out, he'll be just fine; we just need to get him here. Losing it isn't going to help Mary," she emphasized with a significant look, still poised at the landing site. "Stress could very well be the reason her pressure's up. Keep her calm, you understand?"_

_Yes. Yes, he did understand. He swallowed, almost having forgotten Mary was there in his desperate attempt to be her advocate. Turning to face her, he squeezed her hand and immediately saw that she had started to cry. She was nowhere near out-of-control but obviously scared out of her wits._

"_Mare, listen to me," he took her face in both his hands, tears still falling through his fingers now. "You're gonna be fine. Try to relax, but give it all you've got, okay? Don't hold back."_

_She didn't how to say what she was thinking. That, once unable to keep her child she now couldn't bear the thought of losing him. The ache in her chest was no longer physical. She hadn't felt it since the day her father had walked out the door thirty years before and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt she could not to stand to experience such a loss again. She wouldn't survive the heartache._

"_Marshall, I can't…" she murmured._

_He thought she meant she was tired and worn-out and didn't have the strength anymore._

"_Yes, you can," he promised. "There's nothing you can't do."_

"_Marshall, let's do it," Doctor Reese called from the foot of the bed, eager to get going. "Mary, a couple more pushes and he's gonna crown; after that you're not gonna have any trouble…"_

_She was confident in saying this, knowing the kind of effort Mary had expended thus far._

"_He's not gonna make it," Mary gulped as she looked into Marshall's face, the heart monitor dominating everything that had once before been swirling in her mind._

"_Yes, he is," her partner said as he let his hands fall to her shoulders, rubbing her right side, not wanting to consider the possibility. "He's got you helping him land – no way is that heart of his going to stop beating."_

_There was nothing left to do but believe it. _

_Doctor Reese spoke up once more._

"_Marshall, I want you to get behind her…"_

"_On the bed?" he wanted to be clear._

"_Yes," she nodded. "It'll give her more support."_

_That, he could do. Mary only heard half of this, only did what Marshall said when he told her to sit up and he managed to climb onto the bed behind her and fall into place._

_Instantly, Mary felt her own heart rate slow back to normal speed. With Marshall anchoring her, his strength seeped into her, filled her with lightness and power at the same time. He wrapped his arms around her chest and rested his chin on her shoulder._

_The up to her down, the left to her right, the zig to her zag. _

_He whispered in her ear._

_The lasso to the moon._

"_I won't let you give up."_

**A/N: Lengthy on this front! We're in the push to the end (no pun intended LOL!) Hope you all had a nice holiday!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I hope you all had a nice holiday. I am a nerd and continue to post. It's my getaway.**

XXX

The waiting was not the same anymore. Once lethargic and lackluster, it immediately rotated back to the harried state in which it had begun. For Jinx, Marshall, and Stan at least. Mary was strangely calm. Something had brought her back to earth. She just wasn't sure what it was.

Sam eventually wore himself out; Mary decided to stretch out on the one couch so she was at least able to spend the last few hours comfortable. She amused Sam for a little while, settling him on her stomach, playing peek-a-boo, sans the silly voices. Ultimately, his giggles turned sleepy and she helped him lie down on top of her, sprawled on her belly. He was zonked within minutes.

She loved having him so close; it reminded her of his days of being brand new. His head rested just below her chin and she stroked his hair, finger after finger, over and over. She could feel the rise and fall of his tummy against her own.

Jinx was venting her wait-it-out frustrations on Stan, who was kind enough to appease her. Marshall ventured over to sit across from Mary. She fed him a soft smile as he approached, not speaking as not to wake Sam.

"This is quite a picture," he remarked, unable to keep the delight out of his voice.

"I concur," she whispered, agreeing with him for once.

"You seem better," he observed, softer still. "Not quite so nervous."

"I've made my peace with it," she decided. "Just takes a little while to sort through the memories sometimes. You know?"

"I do," Marshall nodded. "And honestly, I should've known this would pull some stuff out of the woodwork – considering the sheriff here," he reached over and lightly fingered Sam's cheek.

"You mean you actually _didn't_ know my thoughts before I did?" she put on a look of mock surprise, not for a second halting her stroke of Sam's fluffy, downy molasses-tufts.

"Was bound to happen sometime," her husband conceded and Mary smiled.

"Better tonight than…" her own indication of Sam.

Marshall, as Marshall always did, understood.

_After precisely thirteen more minutes of pushing, of who knew how many phrases filled with love and admiration from Marshall, of so many gasps of air Mary was certain she had breathed her limit; the clock struck 4:58 AM._

_And in that moment, the world stopped. Every piece of the puzzle came together. The stars aligned. Two became three. And three became one._

"_Oh Jesus…"_

_With a resounding and ear-splitting cry came the sound of what would later be Samuel Mann Shannon. _

_Marshall laughed. He cried, tears to match Mary's now as they streamed down his face. Even though she had to be weak down to her bones, he couldn't help the emotion that overrode his rational thought. He squeezed her hard, still stationed behind her and planted three kisses on her flushed cheeks. Miraculously, she reached up and patted the hands around her chest and then held them in her own._

"_Oh Mary, you did it…" he blubbered. "You did it; he's here…"_

_Marshall's arms suffocating her in the best way possible, she raised her head to see her son – her son – wailing in earnest as he hit the ground running, every breath and cry a beautiful and musical sound._

"_He's okay?" she gasped with a tough swallow._

"_He's great!" Doctor Reese proclaimed as she passed him off to be weighed and cleaned up. "He's fine; we'll get him to you in just a minute Mary."_

_At these words, Mary had to make her last wish known, even though it felt like her brain was jammed with mush – clouds and fog._

"_Give him to Marshall."_

_She could hear him sobbing in her ear, the noise nearly as dazzling as that of their son. _

"_Mary, you take him," he said thickly. "I'll get my chance."_

"_No," she was adamant on this as she shook her head. _

_It was Marshall for whom she had done this in the first place, when she was still scared out of her mind three months before and made the choice after had Seth had died to do for another. To make someone else happy. And although much more resonated now, she couldn't go back on that promise she'd made to herself._

"_I want you to."_

_Marshall just laughed and kissed her temple another time._

"_I can't hang onto him back here," he whispered. "You hold him. _We'll_ hold him," he emphasized, hoping this would suffice. "Together."_

_It took them a second to get their little one assessed, to make sure he was fit and breathing and with an enormous relief learned that he seemed to be in great shape. As the team reported his length and weight, Marshall lost himself in wonder and awe all over again. Never before had he been prouder of Mary._

_He rested his chin on her shoulder again, trying to see her face._

"_I adore you," he whispered. "I adore you; I adore you; I adore you."_

_With every 'adore' Mary's heart fluttered with joy she thought had long since gone away. Never before had she been so grateful for Marshall._

"_I love you too, doofus," she replied, tacking on the nickname to prove she was still herself and he laughed right on cue._

_And then – before Mary was ready, before she could think what else to say or do, Doctor Reese reappeared with their son, swaddled tight and fidgety in blankets and a blue knit hat. _

"_Congratulations Mary," she said and let the baby come to rest in her waiting arms._

_She was so surprised she didn't have time to be nervous, to worry if she was doing the whole thing the right way. He was just there – soft, warm, light. His skin was pink, his lashes long, cheeks soft to the touch._

"_He's gorgeous," Marshall claimed without bravado. "Like his mama."_

_Mary took a deep breath as she watched Marshall reach out and adjust the hat on his head. He knew what he was doing. Did she? Her doubt and uncertainty was likely showing on the part of her face Marshall could see, because for the hundredth time he stroked her hair away and wiped the tears he could reach._

"_Hey…" he whispered._

_She turned to him, managing to tear her gaze away from her son for a fraction of a second._

"_You feeling okay?"_

_He watched over her to the bitter end, wanting to make sure everything she'd just experienced had not broken her in two. Mostly, she felt tired and stretched apart, her muscles trembling. But his question spoke of an entirely different nature in her eyes._

"_I'm not sure," she answered truthfully in a quiet voice._

_Marshall kissed her cheek again, "You'll get there."_

_Turning back to her son – their son – Mary was struck by the rosiness of his cheeks, how weightless but comforting he felt in her arms. The fluffy, buoyant feeling spread to her heart as his gentle cries died down and he snuggled in against her._

"_Am I holding him right?" she asked, still wanting approval that her idea to become a mother hadn't been foolish and reckless, spur-of-the-moment under death and hormones._

"_Perfect," Marshall said which was fabricating but she was too fatigued to fight him. "One hand on his head, one hand on his butt. Perfect," he repeated._

_One hand on his head, one on his butt. She would have to remember that._

"_Here…" Marshall went on unexpectedly and reached over her shoulder, undoing the snaps on the left side of her gown. Vaguely, Mary wondered what he was doing but couldn't grope that far anymore._

"_They say skin-to-skin is warmest," he informed her like they were in school, not a bustling hospital room._

_Instinctively, Mary shifted him up so his delicate, tiny cheek rested on her bare chest. Marshall had only revealed the minimum, but he had been right. There was nothing warmer than this; her boy nuzzling her as he tasted familiarly and shelter._

_The little man flickered his eyelids; they didn't quite open, just tiny slits squinting against the bright lights of the room. But the mere sight to Mary surged a life in her veins, a fire in her heart, blood racing, pulsing against her skin. He was real. He was hers._

"_Hi…" she said shyly. "Hi Smush…"_

"_Smush," Marshall laughed. "I should've known."_

_Mary didn't even know where it had come from. It had spilled out along with everything else. Something about his round cheeks, the way he moved his tiny mouth. Smush._

"_We'll figure out something a little more traditional," he decided. "We've got time."_

_And never before had Mary so blessed with that. Once fearing the absence of two, she now realized the power that made three one._

Mary had drifted off to sleep herself and had to be woken up; Marshall was shaking her shoulder.

"Mare…" he urged. "Mare!"

"Huh?" she said thickly, wondering how long she'd been under. With a groan, she marveled in why she felt so heavy and remembered Sam. He was like a brick on her chest.

Looking up, she saw Marshall, his twinkly blue eyes shining in anticipation.

"Get up!" he told her.

He turned briefly behind him, watching something Mary couldn't see.

"Peter…"

What else did she need to know? Clasping her arms around Sam so she could hang onto him and stand up at the same time, she managed to swing herself upward and sheltered him close in one fell swoop. A talent, if ever she saw one.

Adjusting to her surroundings, she realized Peter was racing down the hall and Jinx was running straight to him, not even bothering to wait for him to arrive. Stan was still there, sipping coffee and trying to be mellow.

Mary expected Peter to catch his breath, to reveal all in wholly dramatic and theatrical fashion – as Brandi would – but there was none of that. She heard him even before he made it to their corner as he threw his arms around Jinx.

"It's a boy!"

"It's a boy!" Marshall repeated as though Mary hadn't heard.

"Hey-hey!" Stan cried, clapping his hands together in glee.

Marshall whirled to face her with joy etched in every line of his face. Marshall loved kids. He loved Mary. By association, Mary's family.

"You're an aunt, inspector!" their boss declared boldly.

Mary hadn't even known she was smiling, still disoriented from the sleep and the news breaking all at once. Jinx had Peter in something resembling a Heimlich maneuver and he was grinning like he was the one on painkillers. A natural high.

Reflecting over Stan's words, Mary realized he was right. Not exactly technically speaking, she already was an aunt if you counted the fact that she'd married Marshall and inherited Sophie, Sarah, Daniel, Quinn, and Claire. But this was the first time it had been by blood – a link, a bond. It had been a long-long time since she'd forged a biological connection, not including Sam. Even Jinx had made it before she had; she was now a grandmother twice over.

"Are you shocked speechless?" Marshall asked with a rather booming chuckle, noticing the goofy pasted-on grin on Mary's face but the absence of words.

She shook her head, trying to pay attention. All the noise was making Sam stir, but he snuggled deeper into her shoulder, trying to stay asleep.

"No…" she said, not even sure why. "Just thrown, I guess."

She was still thinking about what Stan had said.

"You're Aunt Mary," Marshall clapped her shoulder, knowing he could get away with the corniness due to the circumstances. "I'd say that deserves a drink," thankfully they were out of earshot of Jinx and Peter.

"Marshall, it's 2:30 in the morning," she reminded him.

"It's five PM somewhere," he supplied.

"You know somewhere with a fifteen hour time difference?" she joshed, doing the math at lightning speed.

"That is one I will have to look up," he conceded.

Without thinking about it, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, rumpled Sam's hair even though he was whining trying to succumb to dreams once more. For some reason, this made her laugh and she had to return the favor. The stubble on his chin tickled her lips, but she liked the scratch.

Before they could get too hot and heavy, Peter and Jinx finally made their way over after Peter had shook hands with Stan, genial and fatherly as always.

The new dad had tears in his eyes, his cheeks flushed with excitement and pure, unrivaled bliss. If Mary hadn't known better, she could've sworn he was intoxicated he was flying so high. He reminded her forcefully of Marshall on their own day such as this. He kept chuckling, clearly unable to get the words out. Mary decided to spare him that task.

"Congratulations," she said with a sincere smile, offering him the hand that was not supporting Sam. "Tell me this is better than being drunk," she joked.

He cracked up as Jinx gave a disapproving but affectionate, "Mary!"

"So much better," Peter laughed. "It's amazing…_he's_ amazing…" he prattled disjointedly.

"I know the feeling, sir," Marshall swooped in confidently. It was he who gave Peter the quick, one-armed, manly hug as they clasped hands, compensating for Mary. "Congratulations," he repeated.

"Thank-you; thank-you," Peter couldn't stop jabbering, polite to the very end.

Mary decided to give him something else to think about, something different to wrap his mind around so he could taper off the energy train slightly.

"How's Brandi?" she asked, rubbing Sam's back as he shifted again.

"Oh, she's great," he answered with a wave of his hand. "She's awesome. She was…" he shook his head as though in bewilderment. "Incredible."

Jinx put a hand to her chest as though to cherish and treasure the moment, delicate tears falling softly from her eyes.

"Those Shannon women; they know how to do it right," Marshall remarked sagely. He didn't say anything more, but Mary knew what he was thinking of too.

"He a good-sized rug-rat?" Mary went on, getting the stats as though she were preparing a report. "Brandi was worried since he was a little early."

"Six pounds, eight ounces," Peter reported. "The perfect little football. Like a soft tiny sphere."

Mary smiled softly at the analogy. She'd thought the exact same thing about Sam even though he'd been over two pounds heavier.

She was about to question him again – fire away, as it were – but he beat her to the punch.

"Brandi thinks he looks like you."

"Me?"

Flabbergasted, Mary shook her head, just trying to get on board with such a notion. _Sam_ didn't even look like her and he was her son. How could this little being, some ten minutes old, possibly be her spitting image? He didn't even have all her genes.

"Yup," Peter nodded. "And I agree. Just…something about him…"

So, it was a general consensus. Deciding she could leave this absurd conception for the time being, she was startled to hear Peter appeal to her a second time.

"Brandi really wants to see you before they move her down to recovery," he reported.

Mary was going to ask if she was who he was speaking to again, but it was pretty obvious this time.

"You mind?" Peter posed, visibly a little put-off by the look of puzzlement on her face.

"No…no, sure…" she said. "Here Marshall…" she turned to pass Sam into his father's arms. "Take the sleepy sheriff…"

It was apparent Sam was tired because he barely moved going between his parents. Nothing else holding her down, Mary followed Peter back the direction he had come, unable to keep her eyes off the spring in his step, the bounce with which he took a jaunt past the nursery.

"I'm gonna head in there…" he jerked his head at the row upon row of babies in the glassed window. "See how they're setting our guy up; give you a minute with Brandi."

Mary nodded her approval of his words as he directed her with his finger, pointing out the path to Brandi's room so he could stay behind. She stored the information up like the Marshal she was and left him to coo all over his new baby boy – whichever one he was.

It wasn't far to Brandi's quarters; just a quick turn in the hall and she arrived at the room number Peter had designated. Through a tiny sliver of glass, she could see her sister lying on her back looking exhausted but even with her eyes shut deliriously happy. How she recognized that look, she wasn't entirely sure but it lingered just the same.

Hoping she was awake, Mary eased the door open, not wanting to disturb her if this wasn't the case. She must've thought it was Peter, back for more, because she shifted toward the hatch without opening her eyes.

With a mischievous smirk, Mary decided an obnoxious sisterly opening was essential.

"Squish, you shrunk!"

Brandi's eyes flew open and even though there was fatigue imprinted in every feature of her innocent face, she smiled broadly as she saw who was greeting her.

"Mary!"

She approached the bed, ignoring the seat that she guessed had, not so long before, been occupied by Peter. She preferred to stand, looking down into the face of the baby sister she used to spend over half her life taking care of all grown up. Brave, strong, just as Mary always hoped she would be.

"How you feeling?" she asked, twirling a strand of her short blonde hair as she spoke.

"Tired," Brandi laughed. "But really happy."

Blunt – straight and to the point. Forever optimistic in her brazenness. So different from Mary.

"Took you long enough," the older sister scoffed. "I was starting to think maybe this was like a comedy act. You know, 'I'll be here all week?'"

Brandi giggled; the flush high in her cheeks. Mary had never seen her look so cheerful.

"Did you see him?" she asked, ignoring the joke.

"No, not yet," Mary told her. "They were still getting him set up in the nursery. That's where Peter went."

Brandi nodded and then, "He's _so_ beautiful Mary. It's amazing; he looks like you."

"Yeah…" Mary shifted from one foot to the other at hearing this claim once again, quirking one eyebrow as it was. "That's what Peter said. Is that even possible?"

"Of course," Brandi laughed, coarse and scratchy just like always. "He's your nephew."

"Squish, my own kid doesn't even look like me," she reminded her.

"Whatever," Brandi shook her head, still grinning. "How is Sammy boy anyway?"

And it was Mary's turn to brag, to puff out her chest even though this was Brandi's moment in the sun.

"Talking up a storm," she said, trying to be nonchalant despite how proud she was. "We took him horseback riding in Kansas."

"Really?" Brandi was almost more thrilled than Mary. "That's so cool! Did he have fun?"

"I would say fun is an understatement," Mary said with a chuckle. "He practically had a stroke."

"Wow…" Brandi whispered, shaking her head. Mary could see her picturing it, envisioning the little boy riding atop the steed and even wishing she had been there.

"I wonder if Jesse will like horses as much as Sam does," she commented curiously.

One word in there definitely caught Mary's attention. She hadn't known the munchkin already had a name.

"Jesse?"

"Like a boy!" Brandi interjected before Mary could get any ideas. "Not like Jessica!"

"Sure, Squish," Mary rolled her eyes but smiled to show she was teasing. "It's good. Personally I thought you'd go with something revoltingly trendy. Blaine, Cash, Ronan. He's a Shannon, not a soap opera."

Brandi giggled again, unable to stop herself.

"Well, who needs Jesse when I'm sure you'll just call him Swoosh or something," she scoffed.

"Swoosh doesn't work with the pattern," Mary shook her head as though this were an art or a science. "Smoosh maybe," she reflected thoughtfully.

"Smoosh and Smush; there's a pair," her sister laughed ruefully at the idea.

Mary laughed too, liking the two of them together, enjoying the thought of Sam and Jesse the same way somewhere down the line. It hadn't always been like this for her and Brandi, but she was starting to appreciate the fact that they had made it there. She adored Marshall's family and was ecstatic to be a part of it, but there was something special about finally having forged that path in her own union.

"Mary…" Brandi said softly while she was thinking about all this.

Tuning back in, "Yeah?"

The younger bit her lip, debating whether to ask what was on her mind, if Mary would take kindly to it. But the timing, the sequence of events had her wondering. And Mary knew everything.

"Do you think…?"

She felt juvenile, but she still wanted to know.

"Do think that dad…would've been proud of me?"

Mary was not expecting the question but she knew Brandi's hormones were off the chart, that she was tired and riding a wave and was likely to have asked anything under the sun.

As always, Mary went with honesty.

"I don't know," she whispered.

She pulled Brandi in sideways, quick and brief, the best she could do.

"But I am."

**A/N: Two chapters to go and this is it for the long ones (don't know if that makes you happy or sad LOL.)**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank-you for the new reviews; I do surely appreciate it!**

XXX

Standing outside the nursery, gazing at row after row, column after column of screaming, crying, sleeping newborns, Mary reflected that – once upon a time – she had never wanted kids. She still didn't consider herself someone who did, necessarily, or even someone who was especially 'good' with them. The mindset of bringing more life into a world with so much hate, with a mother who was unabashed about absolutely everything, had never actually computed with her.

And yet, without Sam, she wasn't sure who she was anymore. Looking at his cousin in the very front row, fast asleep swaddled in blue blankets, she had infinitely more faith in Brandi than she had-had in herself. A first for both of them.

"Yeah…" a familiar voice carried up the hall and Mary turned to see Marshall striding into her midst, talking on the phone.

Who could he possibly be talking to at three AM? Unless it was a witness. It was back to the grind tomorrow.

"Yeah, no she's right here…" he said. "You want to talk to her?"

Another few steps and he was right beside her, smiling merrily.

"Okay," he responded and shifted the cell off his ear. "Phone's for you," he said, holding it out for Mary to take.

She was going to ask who it was and why it was important, but knew just speaking to the person on the other end would get all that out of the way faster. Marshall passed it to her and he immediately pressed his nose to the glass to make eyes at Jesse.

"Hello?"

"Mary, honey!" came a joyful shout, nowhere near as tired as one should sound at three o'clock in the morning. Mary definitely didn't have to ask to know who it was now.

"Hi Carolyn," she had to grin. "You didn't have to call; it's late."

"Early, technically," she corrected, sounding like Marshall. "And I wanted Marshall to keep me informed. It's not every day we get a new baby in the family."

She was _just_ like Marshall. Mary's family was her family. The thought was pleasing and appealing. It made Mary feel light, like she could sprout wings and fly.

"How is your sister?" Carolyn continued. "She doing okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Mary told her. "They sent her down to recovery a little while ago so she could get some sleep."

"They clock her time?" Carolyn was curious. "How long was she in labor?"

"Close to eighteen hours," her daughter-in-law recounted without even thinking about it. The thought was staggering; Mary hadn't even realized it had been that long.

Carolyn was laughing, "She's a hero."

Mary was still trying to wrap her head around that amount of time – almost a full day, and without any sleep. She'd only labored with Sam nine hours, and had scarcely spent half of that actually at the hospital. Well, she was definitely known for being more stubborn than Brandi.

So busy thinking about this, Mary didn't realize Carolyn had gone silent – a reflective kind of silent. How she knew this when she couldn't even see her was a mystery but something just told her there was more on her mind than the Shannon's.

"Marshall was my longest," she murmured fondly, and Mary smirked. "Good thing too. Seth was on some assignment or other and asked if he could finish the throw-down before he came to the hospital."

Mary laughed at this, not having known this little tidbit about the start of Marshall's existence. Glancing at him, she saw him crouched low against the window, wiggling his fingers and raising his eyebrows at Jesse. He was enraptured, just as he'd been with their own son. Mary wondered if he'd been this way with his other nieces and nephews. They had all come before Sam, so it was hard to say.

"We're gonna head home soon," Mary told her mother-in-law to wrap up the discussion. "Sam's jet-lagged; all screwed up from the time difference." And then, "Thank-you for calling. It was…really nice."

"Of course honey," she replied sweetly. "Tell Brandi congratulations."

"I will."

"And hey…"

There was a pause while Mary waited for her next words, wondering what was on her mind.

"Hang in there."

Although it was odd for the moment, Mary didn't have any trouble understanding what she meant. Not having been caught up in the throes of pre-baby jitters, she was still on what Mary had been going through, which was the death of her father. But the condolences felt better this time around, like she could accept them.

"Thanks," she whispered. "Bye."

As she hung up, she approached Marshall and put her arm around him, endeared watching him make such ridiculous faces and noises at his nephew. He easily slipped her into his embrace so she was sheltered in his chest and they both watched Jesse try to open his eyes, which didn't quite go over.

"He _does_ look like you," Marshall finally said.

Mary had been trying this on for size since she'd arrived, and she didn't see it. He had high cheekbones and a soft, thin little mouth. Maybe it was the shape of his face, the angularities, the things you had to look a lot harder to see.

"_Better_ looking though," Marshall continued when she didn't say anything.

"Nice doofus," she snarked.

She snuck a glance at his nameplate detailing his length and weight, his full name – Jesse Shannon Alpert. Vaguely, Mary wondered why the maiden name was necessary on a boy, knowing it would prompt questions later in life, but that was Brandi for you. She wondered where they'd come up with Jesse. Ironically, Sam's name, which had come basically out of nowhere, had fit right in with the multitude of 'S' monikers in Marshall's family – Seth, Sophie, Sarah. Brandi had either knowingly or unknowingly done the same to her boy with the 'J.' Jinx…

James.

She must've gone vacant in her introspection because Marshall was peering at her curiously.

"What's up?"

She thought about Brandi's need to know if James had been proud of her. She'd spent her whole life pondering that, for whatever it was worth – and it probably wasn't much. She missed him. She couldn't help it. She just did.

"I miss him Marshall," she decided to just say it. There was a lot of wearing-your-heart-on-your-sleeve going on today.

"Your dad?" the mind-reader at work again.

"I shouldn't," she shook her head, eyes still on Jesse. "But I do," she turned to him, needing approval one last time. "Is that horrible?"

Marshall squeezed her opposite shoulder which he was already holding and tilted her sideways, pecking her temple.

"No," he said. "It's human. Remember that."

Watching Jesse snooze serenely, Mary reflected on Marshall's words and evidently she wasn't finished with the influx of memories afforded her this evening.

"Do you remember when I asked for him?" she posed the question to Marshall. "Right before Sam came?"

"Yeah," Marshall responded quietly. She'd never brought this up. "I do." Then, deciding something else needed to be tacked on, "But don't get yourself all in a tizzy because of it. It's no big deal – and over and done with."

Surprisingly, she didn't argue.

"I'll try," she promised. If she could make the effort for anyone, it was definitely Marshall. Now that the admission was out, she felt a little better and said, "Where _is_ Sam?"

"Your mom took him home," he reported. "He is _wiped out_. Doesn't have a clue what the hell's going on," he chuckled. "There's some much-needed rest ahead for all of us."

"Yeah…" Mary murmured. "But you know, technically speaking, we are supposed to be at work tomorrow afternoon. We were supposed to go straight to the office after dropping Sam off once the plane landed."

And even as she said it, she knew Stan would give them a break. He was good that way. But a big part of her wanted to get back to work. She was itching to have the gears in her brain whirring and spinning their desired direction again. To return to normalcy.

They were both quiet for a minute as Mary stepped out of Marshall's grasp and peered down at her nephew, shifting in his sleep and flexing his fingers.

"He is a good-looking kid," her husband reiterated. "Not surprising though."

"I still don't know how they came up with Jesse," Mary voiced. "Brandi never said a word about it."

It was most unlike her not to share every facet of her life, even the details Mary did not need to know.

"It's got a great meaning," Marshall dictated, scholarly as usual. "Stands for, 'gift.'"

Mary wondered if Brandi knew that.

"A double-meaning actually," he corrected himself. "'Wealthy' is the second definition."

And considering Peter's career path, this was hardly shocking. Still, Mary wasn't sure either one of them had picked it for those reasons. She guessed it was just like her and Marshall; Sam had been a spontaneous choice, and she imagined this was the same in a lot of ways.

"I don't know," she shook her head at his information. "The only Jesse I ever think of is Jesse James. Can that be good?" she wrinkled her nose at Marshall. "Seriously? An old-school money-hungry criminal?"

She wasn't even thinking about her father as she said this, or painting some futuristic picture. Just voicing her thoughts, as she was known to do.

Mary expected Marshall to tell her to quit being so negative, to not let Brandi hear this analogy but to her utter astonishment, he smiled.

"You don't think it's telling?" he asked.

"What?" she did not know where this was going.

Marshall raised his eyebrows.

"That you spawned the sheriff…"

He looked so boyish she could've kissed him.

"And Brandi spawned the outlaw?"

And Mary had to laugh.

**A/N: We are wrapping it up! One more chapter and then it closes; I hope you all have been enjoying the tale and thanks again for the reviews (even the silent ones!)**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: A late update tonight for my last installment. Hope it's worth it.**

XXX

"Sam, stop it!" Mary hollered when her little boy inched on his butt across the counter and retrieve a stray cheese cube and nearly landed himself on the floor.

"You are gonna drive me to drink Smush," she remarked, pulling him into her arms so he couldn't run off. He promptly started whining, wanting to be mobile at every second.

"Our little escape-artist at it again?" Marshall wanted to know as he returned from the bedroom to see his wife with Sam in one arm and her head in the blender.

Whatever she was mixing was a strange sort of grey color – not exactly appetizing.

"Could I…ask what you are concocting over here?" he went on, peering low into the plastic of the Cuisinart. "Are you sure this is digestible?"

"Don't be a smart-," Mary started to say and miraculously, managed to remember she had Sam nearby. "Aleck," she finished lamely, hating herself for watering it down but considering the rate of Sam's chattering she was going to have to quit it if she didn't want him to have the mouth she did.

Marshall grinned pompously at her lackluster retort and continued to gaze at the contents of the blender.

"I've gotta ask," he conceded. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a smoothie, Poindexter," she informed him, shoving him out of the way of the counter to get a look herself. It was not the desired shade of light orange she had been expecting but a sluggish cream-grey, and much thicker than she had anticipated.

"A fruit smoothie?" Marshall prompted.

"No, a beef smoothie," she spat sarcastically.

"I just wondered what fruit is this particular shade of murky grey."

Mary sighed; marginally disappointed she hadn't done a better job. She might've had more success if she hadn't had to keep Sam from tumbling onto the floor every few seconds. He'd refused to station himself on the ground, away from all the action, wanting to be up high. But he didn't seem to realize there was an edge and he could fall off.

"Why were you making it?" Marshall wanted to know.

"It's for Brandi," she admitted. "She's stopping by in a little while after she gets out of the hospital and she always liked these…peach smoothies we got at this place in Jersey when we were kids…" she shrugged, not wanting to get all sentimental.

Marshall, however, felt badly now that he'd teased when she'd tried to do something nice. It wasn't exactly a rare occurrence, but she usually made a bigger fuss about going out of her way.

"Are there any peaches left?" he asked. "I'll see what I can do."

"Knock yourself out," she huffed just as Sam shrieked, wanting to be put down. "Fine-fine!"

She set him on the floor the minute there was a knock on the door. Even through the blinds, Mary could tell it was Jinx with a crapload of balloons and bagged presents.

"Maybe she hasn't seen us," her daughter grumbled and Marshall chuckled as he sliced peaches.

Hastily, Mary went to let her mother in, knowing the only reason she had knocked was because her hands were full with all the gifts.

"Hey mom," she greeted her.

"Hello sweetie," she gushed, prancing in, tottering on her heels and dumping everything in her arms to the ground.

"Thanks," Mary bit with disdain. "Just make a mess of my house the first two seconds through the door."

"Oh, don't be such a cynic!" Jinx patted her cheek lovingly. "Brandi and Peter are going to take it all home with them. I bet you didn't get them _anything_," she decided. "Marshall, your bride just does not understand the importance of babies," she twittered knowledgably.

"Oh, I got 'em something," Mary nodded confidently.

Marshall hoped it wasn't this smoothie.

"Just because I don't have to make a big production and pull out all the stops doesn't mean I don't 'get it,'" her fingers formed air quotes. "How could I _not_ know kids are a huge deal with you parading around?"

Jinx was about to respond when Sam ran up to her, arms raised and showing her his toy airplane.

"Jing-Jing, fly plane!" he shook it for emphasis. "Fly plane; birdies!"

"You are such a smart boy, sweetheart," Jinx crooned as she lifted him up, which he actually allowed. Never mind that he'd been screaming about Mary doing it five minutes before.

"Did you fly on a plane?" she asked, kissing his hair.

"Plane-plane," he jabbered. "Horsie ride," he added for good measure, in case Jinx had forgotten this part, which Mary had found time to recount after Brandi's harrowing evening.

"I can't believe how much he's talking," Jinx remarked proudly. "That must've been some trip you took him on."

"I guess," Mary replied, trying to downplay it even though she thought it was remarkable as well.

"Mama, ball?" he pointed out the tennis ball on the floor, the one they had been playing with at the hospital. "Mama, ball?"

Mary picked it up and handed it to him, not entirely sure why he wanted it but she didn't care. The explosion of 'mama's' in the past week was more than enough to keep her content.

Within thirty minutes and one much better-looking smoothie later, Peter and Brandi arrived, Jesse in tow. Mary noticed they both looked tired and wondered why they hadn't opted to just go home and get into some sort of a routine but it was much like her sister to want to spend the time with family. She was never one to say no to gifts either, and spent the next hour devouring everything that Jinx had brought while Peter held Jesse and Mary and Marshall looked on.

It wasn't until their mother had returned home and Marshall and Peter were sequestered in the bedroom, Marshall showing his brother-in-law how to collapse a crib, that Mary found time to give Brandi her gift.

Brandi sat cross-legged on the floor, rocking Jesse slowly back and forth while he sucked on a pacifier. Mary was crawling around on the opposite side, trying to retrieve Sam's brown horse for about the hundredth time, which he had chucked under the couch.

"Sheriff, you are demanding, you know that?" she informed him and without waiting to see if he would care, she swooped him up under his butt and sat him in her lap, determined not to let him go this time.

"Have a snack," she offered to distract him; grabbing the bowl of leftover smoothie Marshall had mixed up for him. He seemed to like the sweet, peachy taste and was more than happy to lick it off his fingers.

"So Squish…" she began. "I didn't want it to be a big hoopla or anything, but I did get you something," she snatched a perfectly plain brown paper bag from the coffee table and held it out to her sister.

"Why do I have a feeling this is a sack full of hand-me-downs?" Brandi joked, still shifting side-to-side to keep Jesse happy.

"Hey, if you don't want it…" Mary shrugged.

"I do!" Brandi squealed. "You know I do!"

"So don't complain!" her sister suggested and Brandi chuckled again before she pulled aside the wrapping to reveal the gift. It took her a moment, only having one hand free while cradling Jesse and she had to grope low to pull out what was inside.

Mary had thought long and hard about an appropriate present for the occasion and had spent a lot of time almost-buying things she would like, and not something Brandi would necessarily love. It was a new age – a new day. She told herself she could spend her own money on something she thought was ridiculous because it wasn't about her. A cheapskate's version of paying-up.

Brandi yanked the bright green onesie from the bag and immediately started laughing.

"Mary, you're the best!"

"Don't I know it," she conceded.

Turning the fabric around, Brandi read the words aloud.

"My Aunt Rocks!"

Crawling along the bottom of the phrase was a line of bugs, at the tail end scurrying over a stone. Brandi must've giggled for a full ten seconds before she finally calmed down and fed Mary a very sweet and also somewhat confused smile.

"But, you hate this kind of stuff," she wiggled the sleeper. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because it's not for me," Mary answered honestly. "And if simplistic, effortless humor suits your fancy for God knows what reason, then…" she shrugged, but Brandi wasn't buying it.

"Mary."

Truthfully, Mary wasn't entirely sure where the generosity had come from. It was obviously unprecedented, that a gift so small could prompt so much. Mary wasn't known for going out of her way to please other people.

"Look Squish…" she started to say, Sam slurping on his smoothie-covered fingers in her lap. "You know how to laugh. You know how to see what _doesn't_ suck. I'm not sure I ever will so…I'm counting on you to manage for me."

"It's been a big week, Mary," her sister agreed. "Since we found out about dad…things have been…" she shook her hair out of her eyes. "I don't know. Different."

That was definitely true. No getting around it.

"Brandi, I don't want to put insane ideas in your head but when the sheriff here landed…" she swallowed.

She'd never admitted this to anyone, not even Marshall, and knew it was the reason she was so protective of her son, of why she strived so hard to make him happy and do what was right. Brandi deserved to know. They were in the same boat now.

"The only Shannon man I've dealt with is James," she whispered.

Brandi looked stunned; her eyebrows flew up as the comprehension dawned.

"You can't think he'll turn out like dad," her little sister said wisely. "Mary, he can't. It's not gonna happen. Genetics may be something, but they're not everything."

And when – _when?_ – was Mary going to learn that? That even if you are who you are, where you come from only depends on who you turn out to be. She should've figured it out long before now, considering her son was being raised by a man with whom he shared absolutely no blood or DNA. That he had an entire family three states away of the same makeup.

As if on cue, Marshall and Peter returned to the scene, cutting the sister's discussion short. But Brandi seemed to get it and accepted help from her husband standing up.

"Look what Mary got me…" she showed him the sleeper. "Isn't it cute?"

"That's awesome," Peter chuckled. "And totally true, by the way."

Mary smiled as she palmed Sam, still consuming the leftover smoothie at an alarming pace, and stood to be beside Marshall. She was quiet, wondering how Brandi, who she had believed for so many years was a dimwitted ditz, understood what her older sister did not.

"You okay?" Marshall asked, seeing the faraway look on her face.

Shifting Sam to her hip, she put her hand around Marshall's neck and kissed him. She never would've made it this far without him. He was everything. Everything.

"I'm fine."

He didn't look entirely convinced, but decided to accept it as Peter and Brandi made their way to the door – back home, ready to kick-start the next phase of their life, much more traditional and conventional than Mary's and Marshall's had been. But customary never worked for them.

Marshall stood at the door and waved them out while Mary took Sam to the kitchen, placing him on the counter where he'd started so he could finish his treat on the surface. Marshall ventured back to her once Brandi and Peter had pulled away from the drive.

"So…" he said as Mary put the blender in the sink. "I've gotta head into the office. I can just go for an hour and then we can switch so you can get some stuff done?" he suggested.

It was going to be tricky coordinating their back-and-forth now when Brandi had her own little man to take care of. She and Jinx had been the designated sheriff-wranglers up till now.

"Sound good?" he prompted when Mary didn't answer.

But she wasn't listening. On impulse, she flew away from the sink and grabbed Marshall in her arms, kissing him long and low, deep and full. She ran her fingers all through his hair, up and down, raking the strands in her nails. Then her hands found his back, his jacket soft underneath her skin, the hitch beneath the fabric where his belt went through the loops. Distinctly, she could sense him getting into it too because his hands rested squarely on her ass. Such a gentleman.

When she thought she could stand to pull away, she hung her arms on his neck and looked up into his big blue eyes. Sam's eyes.

"What was that for?" he asked with a bemused grin.

More than she had time to count. The word was foreign on her lips, but she was _lucky_. She was _so-so_ lucky.

"Marshall, you know you're practically a Shannon, right?" she asked abruptly.

She knew her heart was going to soar before he even spoke, because there was no hesitation whatsoever.

"Of course I am."

She smiled, lightly fingering his chest, lining the pinstripes on his shirt.

"You know that," he said. "You are mine and I am yours."

Only Marshall would emphasize when he had already said all the right things. Leaning in, she kissed him one more time, just trying to remember how it felt, to feel the sparks fly from her fingertips to her feet.

The ache didn't feel so full anymore. It would linger, circle, maybe never completely go away. But something bigger had happened. The gain had outweighed the loss.

Grinning at the look of pleased bewilderment in her husband's features, she sunk deep into his arms, gazing up into his face.

"It's a new era for the Shannon men…" she murmured.

She poked her finger in his chest. He caught the whole hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

"And the Sheriff, the Outlaw, and _you_ are it."

**A/N: And that's the end. I want to thank all my reviewers, particularly jekkah and Husky because they are so faithful but I really do appreciate every single one of you who has taken the time. Honestly, we may not be burnt out on Sam and the gang because I may be thinking trilogy. I don't know if it's that great to keep it going, but I'm already trying so stay tuned. The end may just be the beginning.**


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